


To Dance on Eagles' Wings

by HiddenFlame530



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Murder Mystery, References to Depression, The Author Regrets Nothing, Video Game Mechanics, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:14:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25948663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenFlame530/pseuds/HiddenFlame530
Summary: The universe, in an act of jest and surprising benevolence, gives Edelgard von Hresvelg a second chance. In the middle of the night, a revelation convinces her not to waste it.(the modern AU that literally nobody asked for.)*****On Hiatus******
Kudos: 20





	1. Onism

**Author's Note:**

> right so I've decided to go full stupid and write a series with no planning and no forethought whatsoever. what could go wrong, right?
> 
> onism-(noun) the frustration of being stuck in just one body, that only inhabits one place at a time

She is woken abruptly by a sound.

It is a small, non-threatening one, the sound of a tiny creature instead of a more dangerous intruder. But it stands her hair on end anyway.

Her hand fumbles its' way across the cardboard box serving as a nightstand, crossing over a broken alarm clock and a pile of cheap necklaces before settling on a small desk lamp. The switch is flicked on, the room bathed in sudden, yellow light.

Her eyes are blurry and unfocused, as always. She reaches out and finds her glasses, perching them on her nose and blinking as the blur of colors comes into sharp relief. She has to squint to see across the room; it's only been a year since she was kicked off her parents' insurance, but she cannot afford the doctor's visit to get a new prescription, let alone a new pair of glasses.

Regardless, the offending noisemaker is clear: a rat. A tiny one, frozen in place, but a rat nonetheless.

She fights the urge to scream. Rats send shivers across her skin, make the blood freeze in her veins. However, she can't afford to get kicked out of her apartment, trashy as it is, for waking the landlord up at 2 AM. Instead, she grabs her pillow and flings it at the rodent. Wisely, it decides that discretion is the better part of valor and flees. 

Laying back down onto her crappy mattress, she groans. Now that she's awake, she can't get back to sleep. She has work in the morning, this can't happen now. Her manager has no patience for human flaws or scheduling errors. He nearly fired her on the spot the last time she came in late, and she'll be damned if she has to get on her knees and beg for her job again. 

Goddess, she works as a supermarket bagger. For a living. She eats ramen and whatever's left in the deli department after the store closes. She shares this stupid, one-room, literal-hole-in-the-wall apartment with two other people. Her landlord, who she's pretty sure is selling drugs on the side, snores in the other room. The other tenant, his latest girlfriend, crashes on the ratty sofa. 

She had a free-ride scholarship to Garreg Mach University. She had parents who still talked to her. She had a dorm room and a meal plan. She had it all.

What a miserable existence she leads now.

As she tosses and turns, a wayward spring pierces through the mattress and stabs her in the back. The yelp escapes her lips before she can stifle it.

An hour later, she's on the street, the landlord's angry words ringing in her ears. She now lives out of her car, which she managed to get her most of her possessions to before he and his girlfriend locked her out. The extra weight will affect the gas mileage, but it will still be less than he charged for rent.

The calculations fly through her head. She is smart, she knows this. People have told her so her entire life. 

"What less would be expected from the Hresvelg heiress herself?"

Edith von Hresvelg. Net worth: 6.2 billion dollars. Presumptive heir to Hresvelg Systems Inc. Whoever thought of getting the Hresvelgs out of ruling and into making computers was a genius.

She called herself Edelgard now, after her great-great-great grandmother, or so the family legend went. It was only natural for them to succeed in life; they were descended from an Empress, after all. Elitist scum. They'd forgotten the whole point of the Great Eagle War. Abolishing the Crest system, establishing a meritocracy, yada yada. The class system still existed, just with dollars instead of Crests. Any average person could get a Crest now, with the right amount of money.

Stepping out of the car, she pulls a decent shirt over her head and walks down the street in her battered sneakers. Nobody would mistake her for old money, not in this garb.

Enbarr is deserted at this time of night. The nightlife doesn't come down this way, not in the dark. Too many muggers. All the shops are boarded up, all the people gone home to their families and their warm houses. Lucky fools. Don't know how good they have it. What she wouldn't give for a good meal.

Her stomach rumbles. She didn't eat dinner, on account of her getting home at 11. The girlfriend cooked, and it was all gone once she'd arrived. Not a crumb left. Stupid manager. Stupid store. Made her stay after to help clean up after the latest customer hissy fit. Another clueless snob demanding a refund on spoiled milk. When she'd tried to tell them about this magical thing called an 'expiration date', they'd smashed the bottle on the ground. Called her a 'good-for nothing bitch'. Left in a huff.

It stung, it really did, but she maintained her composure for the sake of her paycheck.

She needed to find a place to shower and wash up. A gym, a public restroom, hell, she'd take a fountain at this point, she felt filthy. The summers here were brutal, and sweat dripped down her neck. As luck would have it, the public pool was closed, but whoever was in charge of locking up clearly wasn't trying. She jiggled the door of the locker room open and slipped inside. Hot water was like liquid gold at this point. 

Breathe in steam and damp and mildew. Breathe out thanks to whoever's watching on high for the chance to shower.

She never thought twice of such luxuries back home, in the family manor. Yes, they had a manor, and a tennis court, and a private pool. They had servants, except they weren't called that anymore, they were called 'the help'. They had crystal chandeliers and fancy galas and champagne in tall glasses. The very stereotype of wealth.

Why had she thrown it down the gutter? She didn't remember some days. Then it came roaring back. The fights. The backstabbing. Aunt So-And-So was feuding with Cousin Whatshisname over an inheritance dispute. Father and his brothers weren't on speaking terms anymore. The fancier the facade, the worse it is behind closed doors.

She hears the last phone call ringing in her ears. 

"Listen here, young lady. You are a Hresvelg, and we are made of sterner stuff than this! I don't care what your professors had to say about the 'redistribution of wealth' or whatnot, I care about my company, and about making sure you're fit to run it! You will come home for the charity ball, you will wear the dress, you will act ladylike and you will make nice with the rest of the family, or you can kiss our support for you goodbye! We've been accommodating of your quirks thus far, but no longer. You toe the line or you find your own money!"

Quirks. That's what they called it when she was diagnosed with depression, generalized anxiety, a host of other labels. That's what they called it when she brought another girl home. That's what they called it when she leapt from her balcony, four stories up. She wasn't mentally ill, she wasn't gay, she wasn't rebellious. She was 'quirky'.

True to their word, they cut her off. She sold some of her stuff, cut back on spending. She would make do on her own. It wasn't like they were particularly close, anyway; most of her family, parents included, were of the mind that love could be bought and sold. But she hand't expected to fall so far, so fast.

First they came to her dorm while she was in class and cleaned out her things. Left a note explaining that they weren't really hers to begin with, that the Hresvelgs paid for them, and she wasn't one anymore. Fine, she could buy new things, get a job.

Then she discovered that they'd bought her scholarship when the first bill came in for monthly tution. It wasn't hers, it never was. She thought she got into GMU on 'merit'? Laughable, she was smart, but not that smart. They'd generously agreed to pay for a new wing as long as they let her in, and now they weren't paying anymore. She couldn't afford this, so she'd dropped out. Put your education on hold, get another job, make do. They were trying to force her to come home to them, to come crawling back, but she wouldn't let them break her. She'd lasted nineteen years in a den of vipers, she'd last another couple until she could stand on her own two feet.

She hadn't realized how expensive living was, especially her meds. At least a thousand bucks a pop, and that was the illict, black-market variety. She took half her recommended dose, she rationed them to last longer, but she had to go in to see a psychiatrist eventually to get her script renewed, and that finally sent her over the edge financially.

Now she wanders the streets, officially homeless, no money in her pocket, dead-end job, no prospects of a better life.

The future her ancestors fought for was wasted on her.

Wet hair slapped against the stolen towel on her back as she wandered, newly clean. Where does she go from here? She doesn't even know how she'll get her paycheck, now that she no longer has an address. She can't contact any relatives since she pawned off her phone. Her car might go next, if she really needs the money that badly. Then she'll really be out on her own. 

Whenever she goes into town, she always visits the statue. Tonight is no different.

The bronze form stands, illuminated by bright spotlights, in the middle of a circular plaza. She sits on a wrought-iron bench and looks up at the empty eyes, the flawless face.

"Hello, great-great-grandma. It's Edith again." She doesn't know why she talks to it, but it makes her feel better, so there.

"I'm, uh, homeless now. Got kicked out. Had another customer yell at me. Pawned off more of my stuff to pay the bills. The usual.

I could, you know, use your help. Right now. I have nothing. Nobody to turn to. They say you forged this path of yours alone, that you walked it fearlessly, axe in hand, through everything that stood in your way. That you started a war-and won it-to realize your dreams. Your ambitions.

So, could you maybe grant me some of that...that will? Cause I don't know where to go anymore."

Edelgard von Hresvelg's statue continues to stare off into the distance impassively, one hand on the hilt of her battleaxe, Aymr, the other reaching towards the horizon. Golden horns curl around her head and meet in the front, the imperial crown glittering in the moonlight. Her hair is curled around each side in a tight bun, two tendrils reaching down to her shoulders. In life, it was bleached white as a result of cruel experiments performed on her as a child.

She knows this better than anyone else. She doesn't tell anyone else, because she fears they'll think she's crazy, but she dreams, and when she dreams, she sees the world through her eyes.

The pain, the searing pain in her chest, as the scalpel cleaves her flesh in two. Her heart, beating in their hands as they watch it with inhuman interest. The syringe plunged into the center, the fire running through her veins. They stopped her heart with a potassium injection so they could implant the Crest Stone. Forged in flames, and it felt like she would combust.

Oh Goddess, she can still feel the needle sticking into her chest.

The blonde prince, lance in hand, laughing madly. The duke's grandson, amber eyes wide in recognition. The archbishop, snarling. They call her a villain. They have no idea what she's been through. The nights spent awake, the tears shed, the thoughts whirling inside her skull. The realization that this will strip her of her humanity, that her fiery heart will turn to ice, that she'll become the monster they fear so much, in order to see this through.

History will condemn her. She will be scorned and hated, her name muddied. She starts the war anyway, she dares point her sword at the Church. Not the goddess, mind you, only her children. She has no quarrel with the dead.

And yet they still haunt her, after the war is won, after it all washes away in a torrent of blood. Sometimes she sees their ghosts, trailing her in the dead of night. Red blood on green hair, white robes, golden headdress. Screaming her worst thoughts and fears back at her. Too late, a realization that they were both bound together by what those who slithered in the dark had done to them. She almost felt sorry, but stopped herself before she could fall back into the abyss. The past is gone, the future is not yet written.

They told her it was impossible, so she cut them down and etched her name in history with the edge of an axe. Now her descendant sleeps on a park bench below her statue. Her hair shimmers for a brief moment as the moon washes it white as snow, before fading back to a hue not unlike coffee with a little too much milk.

She stands, slowly, almost gracefully, still fast asleep. Her hair, now dry, fans out behind her. She walks with a careful step, with purpose in her very stride. The few who see her dismiss her as a ghost, because what kind of madwoman goes out for a walk in the worst parts of Enbarr in the middle of the night? Besides, there's something ethereal about her, something spectral, like the dead have possessed her.

The museum sits on the edge of downtown, placed close to the slums on purpose. The optimists say it's to remind them that anyone can make history, and the cynics say it's to remind them that even now they're looked down upon. Second verse, same as the first. Whatever the case, the locked doors fall open at her touch, the cameras don't record her, and the plush carpet doesn't cave to her footsteps.

She stands now, in front of the display case. In front of Aymr. Legends say the blood of the false prophet is still on its' blade, that it was carved from dragon bone, that it glowed like fire in Edelgard's hands.

The glass shatters. Her fingers curl around the grip. She hefts it, raising it above her head. They have forgotten that a revolution is undying, unyielding. That ideals live even when the people die. The world needs to be reminded what a dreamer looks like, to remember not to mess with the girl with her head in the clouds and an axe in hand. 

Edelgard steps back and watches as the girl's eyes twitch before slowly opening. Her work here is done. She cannot convince her to fight, she cannot give her a home, she cannot even reach out and greet her, wipe the tears away from her face. But she can give her hope. She can give her a weapon with which to carve a path forward. If this is a second chance, then she won't waste it watching her circle the drain. 

The only thing she can do now is sleep again. Until she calls. Until she remembers. Until she reaches past the edge of dawn, through the ages, back to her once again. For now, she places a hand on the girl's head as she fades. 

Slowly, starting from the roots, stretching out toward the edges like an ivory sun, white creeps over the strands of her hair, until it reaches the ends. The power whispers softly before fading.

Edith von Hresvelg is woken abruptly by a sound.


	2. Serendipity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> serendipity: (noun) the faculty or phenomenon of finding valuable or agreeable things not sought for

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm officially expanding this into a series, because I have no control over my creative process at this point. I regret nothing.

Hugh Bertram Vestra, second son of the Vestra family, beleaguered history major, and caffeine addict, was on his fifth cup of the day.

To most people, such an insane amount of coffee would seem ludicrous, even dangerous. However, Hugh had built up a tolerance over the years, having started drinking the stuff when he was ten. Nowadays, five cups was a rookie number. Maybe that's why he was so sleepy. He had a thesis to write, and joe to drink, but nooo, his sleep schedule had to meddle with his plans. Bleh.

He sighed and tried to force his tired eyes to focus on the computer screen, where the wall of words he'd desperately banged out for the past few hours blurred and swam. His paper consisted mostly of him ruminating on the history of the Church of Seiros and its' conflicts with the Republic of Adrestia, once known as the Empire. Of course, his family had a bit of a personal stake in this; the Vestra family had served the Imperial household for generations before Emperor Edelgard I had dissolved the nobility and relinquished power in favor of a democratic election. The century or so afterward had been rocked by civil unrest and even the occasional skirmish, but in the end, cooler heads prevailed. The Vestras and the Hresvelgs had parted ways since, with his ancestors serving as imperial historians for generations now. 

He had chosen to go back to where it all started: the Church. It was still a prominent force in the Republic, but its' impact had been lessened by the Black Eagle War. The Crest system had been eschewed, especially since the ability to implant and remove them safely had become widespread. He himself had a Major Crest of Noa, merely for the purposes of making magic use easier. Magic, of course, came naturally, to him, which is why he had chosen to pursue history instead. He craved a challenge, and he had found one, all right.

So here he sat, at his desk, at 3 AM, staring at his screen. Lovely. 

He sipped his coffee and positioned his slender fingers above the keyboard, hoping inspiration would strike. 

There came a knocking at the door to his condo. Groaning, he hoisted himself out of his comfy desk chair and stumbled over to the entrance, nearly tripping over the pile of groceries he'd left at the door and forgotten to put away. So help him, if this was another Church member going door-to-door...

"I already gave to the last guy who came past, you can-Oh."

The woman at the door certainly wasn't a Church collector. In fact, she was the farthest thing from it. The Church, for all its' preaching about fairness and equality, generally looked down on the poor and scruffy. She looked like hell warmed over: leaves in sickly white hair, dressed in a worn t-shirt and sweats, ratty sneakers and clutching an....an axe. 

"If you're a serial killer, may I suggest someone less prepared?" He readied a ball of miasma. "I'm a mage. Resistance is an oft-neglected statistic nowadays."

The girl trembled. Her eyes-a strange lavender color-widened. "T-this isn't-I'm not-I'm not a serial killer. I....don't know why I have this axe. I just need a place to stay...and I heard someone talking about the person who lived here staying up late, barely leaving except to get food-and I thought 'Oh, sounds like a fellow student'. Former fellow student, anyway."

"You're studying at GSU?" He dissolved the spell with a flash of purple. "I didn't know. I don't usually share my things but..." 

"Yes, I know. I look like death." Upon closer inspection, he saw the telltale raccoon circles around her eyes, the way her clothing clung to her thin frame. "I just got kicked out of my apartment and fell asleep in Hresvelg Square." 

"Ah. And the axe?" "I, um....It's a project. Was a project. For one of my classes. Never got around to throwing it away or selling it." She hefted it carefully. "Not much I can do with a giant replica of a legendary axe."

"True enough." There was something off about her, but Hugh supposed she was harmless, for now. Besides, she'd be in his debt, and the more people he had on his side, the better. That, and she seemed familiar. His curiosity outweighed his caution, just this once.

"Fine. You can stay the night. Just...be careful with that thing. This place is a rental, and I need that deposit back." He opened the door fully, stepping aside to allow her to pass.

"T-thank you. Truly. I am indebted to you...um..." She closed her eyes, thinking hard. "You seem familiar, but I can't remember your name." Ah. The feeling of odd familiarity was mutual. "Hugh Bertram Vestra. Pleased to meet you." He extended a hand. She took it, her grip trembling slightly but still strong. "Edith von Hresvelg."

"von Hresvelg? You're a part of that family?" Not just any student, but an heiress had washed up on his doorstep?

"Distant relative. I don't benefit much from their money or their power." Her eyes clouded over and became distant, as if recalling a painful memory and instinctively raising her shields. "I don't really interact with them much. That's why I dropped out, actually. Money got tight."

He snorted. "Sorry-not laughing at you, just....a Hresvelg. One of the richest families in Fodlan-and one of their scions dropped out of GMU-a public university-because they couldn't afford tuition. What was that war we fought some several centuries ago about, again?"

"Yes, I'm aware of the irony. My direct ancestor started a war for equality and I'm sleeping on the streets." Edith smiled slightly. "It's a cosmic joke. The universe has a wicked sense of humor, it seems." 

He snorted again. If only all rich kids were this tolerable to be around. "Coffee? I have tons." He pointed to several large jars of grounds, ranging from coarse and light to fine and dark. "I recommend the Oghma Mountain Roast-less acidic, doesn't cause heartburn." She tilted her head, intrigued. "I don't really drink coffee that often. I'm sensitive to caffeine-it makes me nervous. Do you have any tea?" 

"Some, yes. Green, black, herbal." He started a kettle on the small stove. "It might be a bit strong-I don't make it often."

"Ever heard the saying 'Beggars can't be choosers'? I'm literally homeless. If it's caffeinated, I'll drink it." He shrugged and added the leaves. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

They spoke as they waited for the tea to finish brewing. "What major were you? You seem like a history buff." He gestured to the axe, which was now sitting in the corner, menacingly. Edith nodded. "Right on the money. I assume you are as well?" 

"However did you guess," he stated, looking at his bookshelf, which was sagging under the weight of all his various tomes, "when I've hidden my passion for it so well?" 

"Well, I can see your computer. Your cursor appears to be a pixellated Lance of Ruin, your home screen is a mural of the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, and your shirt states, in giant red letters, that you went to the ruins of Fhirdiad Castle and all you got was this lousy t-shirt." He looked down. His shirt did, indeed, say as such. "It was a gag gift. From a friend."

"Uh-huh. And I'm the Queen of Dagda." 

"Well, it's true. Ever heard of Fernanda Lucia Aegir? The internet star and first-born daughter of the Aegir Entertainment Industries fortune?" Edith raised her eyebrows, in what appeared to be genuine surprise. "MorningStar101? The girl with the ridiculous dyed orange hair and thousands of loyal followers? Who hasn't?" 

"The hair-it's natural. She's a friend. Keeps me from being a total social pariah-not that I care that much-and she buys me things. In exchange, I tutor her. Keep her from failing every class she takes." Edith seems unconvinced, so he pulls out his phone and scrolls through his gallery before landing on one of the many photos he had of them together. "See? A picture's worth a thousand words." In the photo, they sit in front of a swanky cafe in the luxury district of Fhirdiad. Fernanda's smiling face and mane of bright orange hair take up most of the photograph, but his scowling face can be seen in the corner.

"Huh. And I thought for sure...Nevermind. it's not important." She stands. "I'll pour us the tea." Hugh aches an eyebrow and acts wounded. "What, you think I'm going to poison it or something?" Edith chuffs. "People have tried. Some uncle has ties to the mafia, cheated them out of a windfall in stolen bullions. Tried to get back at him by poisoning me. They thought he cared about me or something. I tasted it and made myself vomit in time."

He makes a noise that he hopes sounds like thinking and not surprise. "By any chance, what did the poison taste like?" She turns to look at him as she adds cream to her cup. "Why exactly...are you asking?" 

"Have a morbid fascination with poisons and the like. I might be able to identify it." Not a complete lie, more of an omission of the truth. The reason he knows so much about poisons is because about half of his family are in the mob and the other half are informants for them. The 'historian' thing is more of a side gig, if he's being honest.

The Vestra crime family was infamous for poisoning their enemies. He'd heard some of his relatives grumbling about a Hresvelg who'd scammed them. It was their own damn fault for being stupid enough to trust a sleazy trust-fund businessman, in his mind, but he didn't dare say it out loud. They'd settled on cyanide as the poison of choice, but decided to give it to one of the heirs as a warning, instead of killing him outright. The whole debacle wasn't worth starting a war with old money.

"If you really must know, it tasted like...almonds. Bitter almonds." Edith's voice brought him back to reality as she set a cup of tea in front of him. "Thanks. Please tell me you held the sugar. Not a huge sweets fan."

"No, I didn't add anything." He nodded, sipping quietly before answering. "It was cyanide. Even a small dose is lethal; you're lucky to be alive." His suspicions were correct. His family had beef with hers. Best to keep that on the down-low. He felt a little guilty, keeping secrets from one of the few decent people he'd met lately, but took some solace in the belief that she was most likely keeping things back as well. 

She pursed her lips as she took a swig. "Oh, that's good. Haven't had a decent cup in ages. And thanks. Not that it's gonna do much, the police are useless and I'll bet most of them are informants, but it is nice to know your enemies." She didn't seem to make the connection-yet. He'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

The teacup clinked as she placed it on the countertop. "I'm beat. Sorry to intrude, but do you have...a couch or someplace I can sleep?" 

"There's a pull-out bed in the green one, over there." He pointed at the once-verdant, now-faded futon slouching near the side window. "It's a bit...sticky. Fernanda threw a rager a few weeks ago, without telling me, and some troglodyte spilled soda on it." 

Edith is already dragging the thing out and has flopped onto the mattress gratefully by the time he's finished speaking. "Thank whichever deity is up there for decent bedding. I paid 1,500 bucks a month, all for the damned thing to pop a spring and stab me in the back in the middle of the night."

"Et tu, mattress?" Hugh can't resist a good quip, no matter how many eye-rolls it garners. He saunters back over to his computer with his tea, pleased with himself, until he hears a scraping noise. He swivels to see her attempting to pick up the replica axe. "What, may I ask, are you trying to do-besides ruining the floor?"

She blinks. "I'm not packing heat. I can't fight bare-knuckle. How else am I gonna protect myself?"

"From who? Me?" 

"Well..I mean, you could have slipped something into the tea." He takes a long gulp and waves the cup at her for emphasis. "You poured it to prevent me from doing so, remember? And I'm drinking it, too." She continues dragging the axe over to the bed anyway. "It's not you, it's just instinct. Too many close calls. I can't sleep without some form of...some form of protection. Near me. I had a pocketknife stashed in the mattress back at the old apartment, but I had to leave it." She sits on the bed, attempting to unknot her shoelaces. He watches with a mixture of amusement and pity as the ratty sneakers she's been wearing practically dissolve in her hands, leaving her with two soles and a bundle of laces. 

She groans and tosses them at the wastebasket next to his desk before pulling the blankets around herself and curling up into a ball. 

Inspiration struck him sometime later, as he finished his tea. How could he write a paper on the history of the Church without mentioning Edelgard von Hresvelg? The words began to flow again as he typed. The essay practically wrote itself. Maybe having a Hresvelg around was somewhat of a lucky charm. 

A Hresvelg.

How could he so stupid! 

It was right in front of him the whole time. And he had the audacity to call himself a history buff. This wasn't just a washed-up homeless college student with a sharp tongue and a literal axe to grind. 

_This was the spitting image of the Empress of Flames herself. ___


	3. Phosphene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> phosphene-(noun) a ring or spot of color caused by pressure or stimulation of the eyeball in a manner not involving light.
> 
> Hugh pays a visit to his friend/greatest annoyance, in an attempt to figure out why he seems to be rooming with the reincarnation of an empress.

She saw colors when she dreamed.

Others saw their worst fears or their wildest fantasies, splayed out on the canvas of their subconscious mind. When she had a coherent dream, it was the world through Edelgard's eyes. It was the experiments, the politics, the conquests, straight from the eagle's mouth. Like a strange simulation that played out every night. 

Tonight, she was lucky. Tonight, her dreams were of her own mind. And her own mind saw colors. Great streaks of red and orange spangling the blue expanse, flecks of green and gold sparkling like stars, bursts of fuchsia and purple expanding like corn kernels in a heated pot. They were beautiful. And more importantly, they were completely unpredictable. The idea that your dreams were predictors or portents of some unknown, nebulous fate was repellent, at least to her. Fate was an illusion. You made your own fate, no matter what it cost. If she had learned nothing else from her ancestor, that alone was enough.

Edith woke when the brightness of the sun shone through her eyelids, tinting everything bright red. She scrubbed at her eyelashes, crusted with mucus, before fumbling around, looking for her glasses. 

"Looking for these?"

She stared in the general direction of what she assumed to be a person, judging by the fact that the black and green blob in front of her just spoke. "Huh? Are those my glasses?"

The blob handed her the spectacles, which she placed daintily on her nose. "Ah. Hugh, right?"

"The one and only. Took the liberty of cleaning them for you. I hate smudges-so unsightly." He smiled faintly. "I wore them when I was younger-they had to wait until my eyes stopped growing to fix my lenses. The magic backfires if they change in size." 

"I've considered it, but I don't have the money. That, and I've been told my glasses make me look...older. Smarter. Professional, even." She stood shakily as her stomach let out a bellow of hunger. "I hate to impose on you any more than I have to, but do you have any food? Haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon."

"Fridge is that way. Cereal, eggs, whatever. I'm not rich, but I'm not starved for cash either." Hugh made money on the side working part-time at the Museum of Adrestian History downtown. A tour guide and occasional security officer, when the more....cursed relics got antsy and they needed someone with a feel for dark magic. He'd been a model employee, apart from a few kids he'd scared with overly-graphic descriptions of various torture devices.

"Thanks. Haven't tasted anything aside from ramen and expired deli meats in a while now." Edith shuffled over to the fridge and grabbed a carton of milk, splashing it onto an overfull bowl of Frosties with the gusto of a homeless college student-which, to be fair, she was. 

"So, why exactly are you walking around in what used to be a pair of disintegrating sneakers and eating pepperoni with a side of mold? What do you do for a living?" Hugh asked, hoping Edith would stop inhaling cereal long enough for her to answer his question. She swallowed hard and spoke briefly. "Cashier. EZ-Shop, downtown, on the corner of Pike and Bullhead. They throw the sliced stuff at the end of the day-they can't sell day-old bread or meat-so we're allowed to take what we want." 

Now that she mentions it, she is rather thin. Her eyes are slightly sunken, her cheekbones sharp, her face gaunt with stress and hunger. "I know what it's like."

She looks at him, puzzled. "Know what?"

"Hunger. My father became a made man with the Vestras out of necessity, when I was eight. They provided for us, kept us fed and housed, but only in exchange for our loyalty. Dear old dad was the prodigal son, the black sheep, which is why they were so loath to accept him back into the fold. They worried he might be spying for the police. Their fears were assuaged, a few years later, when he was gunned down." Edith's hands fly to her mouth. "I'm so sorry. My condolences." He huffs. "Spare me. I was what-ten? Eleven? It's been years, either way. Didn't know him that well. Either way, we went hungry for a while before he joined, and a while after he died. One of my uncles took me under his wing."

Hugh didn't know why he was spilling his life story to her, but he felt he could trust her, and vice versa. "What about your family?"

"They're...harsh. Cruel, even. They only care about money and power. My parents might as well be dead to me, and I to them. They don't understand why I'm angry at them, and they project their own faults onto me. They're shallow and vapid and-ugh! I'm sorry. I can't talk about them without getting angry. The wounds are deep, and still very much raw."  
She clenched her fists until bony knuckles showed through, shaking with rage.

There was a brief flash out of the corner of his vision. He turned and saw the supposed replica axe, still resting next to the pull-out bed, glowing with a faint pulse of fiery light. 

She was staring at the thing too. As soon as she stood up, the axe stopped glowing, and became inert once more. "Weird. Never done that before."

"Your supposed replica axe...glows? Weird indeed." Hugh could tell she was holding things back. Sensing his suspicion, she quickly tried to reassure him. "I, uh, installed battery-powered lights. But I thought they were dead-they shouldn't work anymore."

Edith's mind raced as she studied Hugh's face. He didn't believe her, but was choosing to give her the benefit of the doubt. Why? Out of curiosity or pity or maybe the force that had drawn them together? She did not know. But if he found out she had a stolen, ancient battleaxe, and also just happened to be the heiress to the Hresvelg fortune, she was in for it. For now, she was relying on the fact that he didn't seem to care about the affairs of the rich and famous, but if he did some digging...there had to be traces of her out there somewhere.

Speaking of her family...Hugh had questions in his eyes. She internally groaned, anticipating more questions. "Anything else you want to know about my giant, screwed-up family?"

"Is it true you're descended from Edelgard I?"

The question caught her slightly off-guard. "According to family legend, yes. I thought that was common knowledge-er, rumor, anyway." He scrutinized her before continuing. "Because you bear more than a passing resemblance to her. White hair, purple eyes, short stature, et cetera."

She huffed indignantly. "I'm not that short. At least, not compared to the rest of my family. The women do have a tendency to run on the petite side. Which proves your point even more, actually. But I'm not sure whether or not we have a direct descendant. It's kind of hard to keep track of imperial family lines after Edelgard..."

"...because she abdicated the throne in favor of a democratically elected successor. And the jury's still out as to whether or not she had biological children." He busied himself brewing another pot of coffee as he talked. "The idea was brilliant. In practice, it failed. Several times. The nobility wasn't quite ready to give up their status and prestige, and the common people weren't well-educated enough to make an informed choice. Eventually, it got sorted out, but there was still about a century of civil strife between her abdication and the first true democracy in Fodlan." 

He turned to see Edith listening intently, hands on the sides of her face, cereal bowl empty. "And, um, that's the gist of it, anyway. Sorry, I'm not used to people actually being interested in my impromptu lectures. Bit of a niche interest, I'm afraid."

"No, no, it's fine. I'm a history buff myself. I plan to be a government official when-I mean if-I graduate, and I figure it would be a good idea to have knowledge of this country's past. History repeats itself, so I would think it wise to brush up." 

"Hmm. Probably smart. Most politicians don't know the first thing about even recent history, as evidenced by...well, a lot of things." She snorted. "You mean Prime Minister Lugner? Goddess, what a buffoon. And don't get me started on his cabinet. Cronies, yes-men, bootlickers and corporate shills, all of them. They're honestly unfit to run a dishwasher, let alone a country." Disdain drips from her every word.

Hugh shrugs. "They'll get booted out eventually. No point worrying about them in the meantime. I should know, Fernanda keeps chewing my ear off about one thing or another-"

His phone rings loudly, derailing his train of thought. He flips it over and groans. "Speak of the devil. Hold on, I have to take this." Picking up the call, he mentally prepares himself for the verbal barrage the youngest Aegir scion was most likely about to unleash. "Yes, Fernanda?"

"Hubie! How's it shaking, haven't talked to you in a hot minute. I've been soooo busy lately, with my blog and my photo shoot and this new book deal-it's a self-help book! And-"

"Can you cut to the chase, Fernanda? I'm only on my second cup, and my patience is kinda thin right now." Hugh senses movement out of the corner of his eye, and turns to see Edith pilfering his tea stash. "I stayed up late working on my thesis, and also, um, taking in another....hold on." He turns to her. "What year are you, again?"

"Sophomore. Former sophomore." He nods and turns back to the phone. "Sophomore. Turns up out of the blue, on my door, at 2 AM. She's a lovely person, but a fellow caffeine addict. I may be running low again soon."

"Oooooh, that's so sweet of you, Hubie! I didn't know you cared! Maybe you aren't so grumpy after all-wait." There's a pause, and he inwardly winces, waiting for the shoe to drop. "Oh. Em. Gee. Did you say this sophomore is a _girl! _"__

__"Look, Fernanda, I've known her for all of a few hours don't jump to conclusions please Goddess no-"_ _

__"EEEEEEE! HUBIE! YOU FOUND A GIRLFRIEND! Tell me everything! Is she cute? What's her name? Is she taller or shorter than you? Does she have pretty eyes? Are the sparks flying yet?" He has to hold the phone away from his ear as Fernanda vents. Edith raises an eyebrow. "Who, exactly, is that?"_ _

__"Fernanda. Don't worry, she's usually this...extra. I may have told her about you, and she's jumped to conclusions." Her eyes widen. "Oh. Um, how much does she know? About me?"_ _

__"I only told her that you're a sophomore and female, and that's enough for her. She's probably dying to meet you now, so good news and bad news. Good news is she's loaded and you'll never have to worry about money again if you play your cards right. Bad news is she's a bit much." She nods sympathetically. "I grew up around a bunch of attention-seeking narcissists. There's no way she can be worse, right?"_ _

__Fernanda yells from the phone. "Is that her in the background? Her voice is sooo pretty and, like, sophisticated! Can you bring her over?"_ _

__Two hours later, they're in a limousine._ _

__Hugh has gotten somewhat cleaned up-a quick shower, a shave, a change of clothes. Edith, however, is stuck with what she has, which isn't the best thing ever, but whatever works. He'd lent her a jacket and a brush, and she still looked like she'd just climbed out of a clothing store dumpster. "So, uh, word of warning. Once Fern sees you, she's going to flip her lid. She won't stop until she gives you a complete makeover. Just...roll over and play dead. It's easier if you don't fight it. I should know."_ _

__"I mean...it's free clothing. Free makeup. I'll take it. And if this friend of yours is rich enough to just send a limo to pick us up, they'll probably be good quality." She tapped the windowsill, fingers dancing along the black plastic. "Beggars cannot be choosers."_ _

__"It's ironic, really. You're a scion of the Hresvelg clan, who once ruled the known world, and you're now depending on my mercurial friend for clothing and me for sustenance and lodging." He saw her brow furrow and added "No insult to you, but the universe is funny in that way." She made a thoughtful 'hmm' noise, which he assumed meant she agreed, and they sat in silence for a minute or so before she returned fire. "It's ironic in your case, as well. The Vestra family used to be the most devoted and loyal servants of the Imperial family, and I just happen to knock on your door."_ _

__The limo stopped before the conversation could continue. Edith self-conciously wrapped the borrowed coat-a blue blazer, fine cotton-around herself as if to mask her ragged clothes. A few people stared as they entered the building, and the doorman gave her a look of thinly-veiled disgust. She folded in on herself, hugging her arms close to her torso, head down. A tactic she'd learned from years of family fights, a way to make yourself smaller. Less conspicuous._ _

__Hugh, however, seemed perfectly confident, as he rang the buzzer for the penthouse. What she'd give to feel like she belonged._ _

__Upon realizing that they were Fernanda Aegir's guests, the doorman looked at her with dawning horror before escorting them upstairs. A series of apologies and excuses flowed from his mouth-not like she was listening, but she'd heard it all before. He stayed behind in the elevator as they walked into the lavishly decorated space. Edith had to stop for a minute or so and take the overwhelming colors in._ _

__Walnut floors. Plush white carpeting. 95 inch plasma TV. Couch with far too many throw pillows. Unusually shaped lamps. Expensive jewelry and clothing, strewn about like litter._ _

__And in the center of the storm, a girl with a huge lion's mane of carrot-colored hair. Her eyes, accentuated with bold shadow and liner, widened when she saw Edith. "My, my, Hubie. I thought you didn't like charity cases." She pouted as she approached her, heels clicking. "What's your name, honey?"_ _

__Something within Edith snapped at the sugar-sweet, patronizing tone of her voice. She brought herself up to her full height before stating, plainly:_ _

__"I am Edith von Hresvelg. I am _not _a _charity case _." Too late, she realized that Fernanda might know her family. "Not that it's any of your business-"_____ _

______"Hresvelg?! The Hresvelg family? You're that heiress! Everyone's been talking about you! You were the mysterious ingenue, the eligible bachelorette, the rebellious, fiery future of Fodlan! And then you just up and disappeared into thin air? Dropped off the radar? And you turn up now? With Hubie!?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______With every word out of the redhead's mouth, Hugh's jaw dropped further. He looked at her with bewilderment for a full fifteen seconds, mouth opening and closing like a demented goldfish, before stating " _You're _the Hresvelg heiress?"___ _ _ _ _ _

________"It's....a long, long, _long _story."___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	4. Interlude: Enbarr Museum of History, Exhibit A

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An archived manuscript, tucked away into the pages of a ledger, is uncovered after a curious intern pokes around the museum's collection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently on the mend from a medical procedure, and I'm too tired to write a whole chapter, so here: have some bad poetry instead. Cheers.

_This manuscript was recently uncovered by a member of the museum staff who was cataloging historical documents and noticed a sheet of paper sticking out of a ledger. Carbon dating of the piece dates it to the end of the Imperial Era, around I.Y. 1185. The author is unknown; there is no signature, and handwriting analysis has yielded no results. Nevertheless, the contents are quite unique: a poem, written not in the courtly, formal style of the nobility, but rather the rhythmic cadence of a folk ballad, along with a charcoal sketch of an unknown soldier. Said soldier appears to be wielding the lost Relic known as the Sword of the Creator, and is wearing armor consistent with descriptions of the Enlightened One, a mythical figure said to have fought by Edelgard I's side during the Black Eagle War. The sketch is one of the few pieces of evidence we possess regarding the enigmatic figure; not much is known about them or their connection with Edelgard. The contents of the poem, combined with the remarkable precise and well-preserved sketch of the legendary figure, has led some to speculate that the script was penned by none other than Edelgard herself. There is little evidence to support this claim, but for now it seems to be the prevailing theory. ___

__They gave her birth, long ago  
Deep within the palace cold  
And it was spoken  
That the newborn babe, still but a girl  
Would ascend the throne and rule the world  
Bright eyes wide open._ _

__They came in flocks, all dressed in black  
And filled with thoughts she'd rather lack  
Told her she was chosen  
And when they saw flame in her breast  
They tore apart her fragile chest  
Black heart wide open._ _

__They took her to the mountain high  
The place where white wings wall the sky  
As the doors were closing  
She saw the future in fallen stars  
And gave into her beating heart  
Strong arms wide open._ _

__She donned the crown, took up a sword  
And dared to bring about a war  
Knowing it was hopeless  
And yet, imagine her surprise  
When she was joined by the divine  
New faith wide open._ _

__She delivered victory to their hands  
To mend again a scattered land  
And when her axe was broken  
She buried the pieces in the soil  
Choosing to spend her mortal coil  
With love wide open._ _


	5. Osseous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> osseous (adjective)-consisting of or turned into bone
> 
> Edith finds out she's not the only one running around with a stolen ancient battleaxe.

Edelgard watched as her descendant told them who she was.

The claiming of one's own identity was one of the most important things to her. It used to be that the name you gave alongside your own, the name your family carried, was the one that determined your future. Now, your name was your own, and you stood and fell on your own merit.

Mostly, anyway. 

She'd tried so hard, but even she couldn't completely erase the nobility from Fodlan. It persisted under a different name and form, economic rather than blood-based. She supposed it was a better system than the one it had replaced, but she'd rather see it all wiped away, considering she'd fought a war to end it.

The white-haired woman sat down beside the girl as she spoke, voice wavering. Trying desperately not to cry. It was a feeling she knew well. She didn't know whether or not Edith could feel the ghostly hand she placed on her shoulder. Whether or not she knew she wasn't alone.

Edith's shoulders lifted as she finished speaking. "That's how I ended up here. Barefoot, in a borrowed coat and ratty clothes, with an axe. That I woke up with. And have no idea where it came from."

Hugh and Fernanda both regarded her with a mixture of bewilderment, suspicion, and a strange feeling of...trust. They trusted her. Despite the sheer ludicrousness of her story, they felt inclined to believe her. She didn't know whether or not this was a good or bad thing.

The orange-haired girl spoke first, breaking the silence that had settled on their shoulders like a wet blanket. "So that's what happened. You should have seen the tabloids, darling. They went wild. Thought you'd eloped or gotten killed or moved to Dagda or something. And you were...right here. All along." She stiffened. "Wait. Where do you work?"

"The E-Z-Shop, near the museum. Although...considering the fact that it's 10 AM, and my shift started two hours ago...I'm probably fired." 

Fernanda placed her head in her hands, orange mane spilling over her hands, and groaned loudly. "I am so, so sorry."

"For, uh, what?"

"I was having a bad day, because some idiot was stalking me, and I've been trying to get a restraining order for literal WEEKS now, but he won't let up and he keeps sending me these really creepy emails and asking me for 'feet pics', whatever the heck that means, and I went out incognito to get some groceries, and then one of my friends called and told me someone had hacked my account and was posting all this stuff on my feed and I'd had it up to here, and I grabbed the rest of my shopping list without paying attention-"

"Fernanda, we don't need a play-by-play of your entire shopping trip." Hugh cut her off before the verbal freight train could pull completely out of the station.

"Right. Anyway, I only noticed the milk I'd gotten was expired when I got home, so I drove back to return it, but the cashier informed me that since it was marked as 'damaged' I couldn't get my money back, and I was so pissed I threw it at her and it shattered and rotten milk went everywhere! And I felt so bad when I realized what I'd done, and I just up and left because I didn't know what to say!" Fat tears started rolling down her face, carrying traces of sparkly makeup with them.

"So what you're saying is that you're the irate customer who called me a, and I quote, 'stupid bitch', among other things, and threw spoiled milk at me." Edith barely batted an eyelash as she spoke. "Because that actually happens a lot; people don't really seem to see retail workers as people. You're not the worst person I've dealt with."

Fernanda's tears subsided. "I-I'm not?"

"Not by a long shot. Had someone fire off a Sothis-loving Ragnarok in the middle of the makeup aisle because they got caught shoplifting. Second-degree burns, all over my face and arms. If it hadn't been for this one college student who knew healing magic, I would've been scarred for life. You could have done far worse."

"So you'll forgive me?!"

"Um....yes?" Fernanda squealed and threw her arms around Edith, hugging her tight. "Thank you thank you thank youuuu!" Edith and Hugh shared a side glance as the redhead sobbed into her borrowed coat. 

"I, um, don't own this coat. It's Hugh's. So, ah..." Edith gently dislodged Fernanda. The other girl squinted at her. "Wait, so this whole hot mess you're wearing...I thought you were just really into grunge or something! Oh my goodness, we need to get you some real clothing!"

Hugh rolled his eyes. "I'd run if I were you, Edith. Her makeovers can be...exhaustive, to say the least." 

"It's clothing. I don't have much of it." Edith allowed Fernanda to drag her into a spacious walk-in closet. "I'm willing to put up with this if it means I get to wear decent threads."

He shrugged. "Just give me a shout if she starts plucking eyebrows, I'll distract her while you get away."

An hour or so later, Fernanda's sing-song voice came from the alcove. "I'm all dooonnneee! Come on, sweetie, you look great!" Hugh put down the vapid fashion magazine he'd been reading-apparently plaid scarves were in season for the 'fashionable man'-to see the damage.

Holy Sothis, mother of dragons.

Her long hair fell like an ivory waterfall around her heart-shaped face, purple ribbons holding back the unruly strands around her ears. Her purple eyes were framed by long eyelashes, mascara glittering, and faint fuchsia half-moons of eyeshadow. She wore a pair of lilac-colored leggings, the material shimmering ever so slightly, and a light gray blazer with a royal purple pocket square, opened slightly to reveal a mauve v-neck shirt underneath. A small lace choker with an amethyst brooch settled on her slender neck, nestled in the hollow between her collarbones.

"You, uh, I mean, uh...You clean up nicely." Oh Goddess. He was stuttering. Hugh Bertram Vestra, grown-ass man and possible mafia heir, was blushing like an embarrassed schoolboy. Fernanda's eyes sparkled with laughter as she looked at him. "Somebody's blushing~!"

"Must you, Fernanda? I'm not-okay, I am, but-not like that!" He gave up and planted his palm squarely in the center of his forehead with a loud *smack*. The redhead giggled. "See, Edie! Mind if I call you Edie? You'll have the boys-oh, and girls, if you swing that way-falling all. Over. You."

"Thanks, I think?" Edith was still trying to mentally calculate the cost of the outfit. The blazer was cashmere, the leggings were silk, and she was pretty sure that the gemstone was real. She could pay rent for months just by pawning it off. "Are you sure it's okay for me to have all this? I mean, it's probably very expensive, and I hardly know you-"

Fernanda cut her off. "Oh, nonsense, sweetie. Any friend of Hubie's is a friend of mine! Besides, I've been dying to make someone over for quite a while now, and Hugh's not that into it, you know?" Hugh was still red in the face, and was now attempting to hide it behind another magazine. "Oh, come now, Hugh. We can all see you."

Hugh gave up and put the magazine down. "Fine. I'll admit, you look...stunning. I think I see it now-the whole Hresvelg heiress thing."

"I'm not an heiress. Not anymore. Family practically disowned me, remember? Not that it matters-I don't give a damn as to what they think of me." Edith smiled faintly, although a slight look of pain crossed her face. Fernanda pouted, lips pushing outward. "If they can't see how fabulous you are, then girl, they don't deserve you, and you don't need them."

"As much as I hate to agree with her, she has a point." Hugh had calmed down to the point where he could now think straight. "Family is supposed to protect you, no matter what, not just shove you aside or discard you the moment they don't like you anymore. And I'm a Vestra. We're mafia, for Sothis' sake, and we aren't as venomous as your folks are."

Edith smiled again, genuinely this time. "I...thank you. I promise I'll pay you back. Both of you. As soon as I can."

Fernanda was about to speak again when the seat of her designer jeans buzzed. "Oh-hold on." She tapped at her phone with manicured nails. "Nevermind, it's nothing. Just a news alert."

"Alert? About what?" Edith looked over her shoulder and gasped. "Oh no. No no nonono! Hugh, we need to get back to your place!"

"What? Why?" Hugh hopped off the couch. "What's happened?"

She flipped the phone around to show him the headline, in bold block letters: 

'Ancient Axe Stolen From Enbarr Museum of History!'

*********************************************************************************************************************************************************  
The limo dropped all three of them off in front of the condo. Edith orbited nervously around Hugh, who was fumbling with his keys, and Fernanda, who was attempting to climb in through the window. The minute the door opened, Edith rushed past him, hair flowing. "Where is it? It was by the pull-out bed-oh!"

Aymr still rested in the corner where she'd left it. The blade pulsed with faint light as she drew near and picked it up, wrapping her slender fingers around the handle.

"Oh. Oh jeez. That's an actual axe. I-I thought you meant a replica, but that's an honest-to-Sothis battleaxe." Fernanda seemed genuinely surprised, despite the fact that Edith had come clean to her and Hugh both a few minutes prior. "That's why you were so worried about getting back here! You minx, Edie! A stolen artifact!" She nudged Hugh, grinning widely. "This one's a keeper!"

"I didn't mean to steal it." Edith still held the weapon, gingerly running a finger along the blunted edge. "I told you-I fell asleep on a bench in Hresvelg Square, and woke up with it in my hands, outside the exhibit hall. I panicked, and I ran, but I held onto it the entire time, because...it's an ancient artifact, yes, but it's still a weapon. It could still be deadly in the wrong hands."

"I still have a hard time believing you broke into a museum, shattered a bulletproof glass display case, took an axe, and carried it outside, all without waking up, but it's as plausible an explanation as any." Hugh's eyes were fixed on the axe as he spoke. "I mean, it's not like you can just pawn off an axe for money, and you would have no other reason to steal it."

"True, but it is a Hresvelg artifact. Maybe she's subconsciously jealous of the museum for having something that used to belong to her family?" Fernanda cocked her head to one side.

"I don't really want this thing-it's a giant, obvious weapon-but I can't just drop it off in front of the museum, can I?" Edith started to set the weapon back down before Hugh extended a hand. "May I? I'm a bit curious, honestly." She shrugged and handed it to him. He staggered slightly under the sudden weight. "Oof-how are you-ugh-lifting this so-ach-easily...?"

"I have no clue. It's just...It feels natural in my hands. Like I was meant to wield it."

"Hmm. Well, if my hypothesis is correct, and this is the real Aymr, then..." Hugh raised the blade to his face and...licked it.

"What are you doing!?" Edith hurriedly yanked the blade out of his hands. "Why are you attempting to taste a freaking battleaxe?"

"Because the real Aymr is made from bone. They don't know what type-they suspect it's draconic-but they do know that it's organic. The human tongue naturally sticks to dry bone-which mine just did-so this, combined with the fact that it glows when a Hresvelg holds it, means it's most likely the real deal." Hugh crossed his arms. "Simple."

"I wouldn't make a habit of licking artifacts, but...your theory is solid. The only problem is...I don't know if I have a Crest or not." 

"You can't just project it?" Fernanda asked, confused. "Like so?" She extended her hand with a flourish. A strange symbol, reminiscent of a spearhead, manifested in glowing red light. "I have a Minor Crest of Cichol, see?"

"I've tried, but...I can't project anything." Edith muttered the incantation, but nothing happened. "See?"

"Strange." Hugh frowned, the creases in his forehead deepening. "I don't have a natural Crest, but I can still project-it just doesn't show as clearly." He spoke the same spell, and an empty red circle appeared to hover over his palm. Briefly, before it faded away, a Crest of Noa appeared, flickering like a neon sign. "Is it possible your magic has been blocked?"

"No, I can still perform magic. Watch." She grabbed the edge of Aymr, cutting her hand slightly, before holding her other, undamaged hand over the wound and exhaling slightly. A small flash of white light erupted from her fingertips and surged into the wound, knitting the edges together and staunching the flow of blood. 

"Hmm. So it might just be that one specific spell that's blocked. I've never heard of such a thing happening before, but I suppose it's possible." Hugh mused. 

"Umm, guys? I hate to break up the party, but shouldn't we hide this thing? I mean, it's stolen property, we could get in big trouble!" Fernanda squeaked out. "Imagine what that could do to my image!"

"Wait a minute. What was that article, again?" Hugh pulled out his phone and scrolled through the news app, stopping when he reached the museum headline. His eyes roved over the glowing screen for a minute or so before he looked up, relief on his face. "They don't know it's gone."

"What?" Edith nearly dropped the axe.

"The article isn't about this axe. It makes no mention of Aymr. It does, however, mention another replica axe being stolen from the museum. The Goneril axe, Freikugel, to be exact." Hubert showed them both the picture beneath the headline. The display case was empty, and a clean circle was cut from the center of the glass.

"That's not the display case I took this from. I remember I nearly stepped in shattered glass. This looks like a clean cut-a planned robbery." Edith looked down. "So why haven't they noticed that Aymr is gone?"

The realization hit Hugh like a bolt of lightning. "Because they don't know the difference. Between this and a replica. The one in the display case...it's a replica. The real Aymr is normally kept in a locked vault, unless someone specifically requests to see it."

"But I don't remember stealing it from a vault-I remember the exhibition hall. So why was the real Aymr in the display case? And if the reason why they haven't realized it's gone yet is because it was replaced with the replica, then who put the fake in place and replaced the glass?" Edith closed her eyes. "It doesn't make sense."

"Well, one thing's for sure: there's now someone else out there with a magic battleaxe. That probably isn't a good thing." Hugh sighed. "However, finding them might prove useful. For one, it might help explain why you sleep-walked into the museum and stole Amyr. The two incidents might be related."

Fernanda's phone buzzed again. She looked down at the screen, and gasped. "Oh no."

"What now?" Edith groaned and turned around. "Have they found out Aymr was stolen?"

"No-worse. Look."

'Ancient Axe Recovered At Crime Scene'

And underneath, a blurred picture of a headless corpse, Freikugel buried neatly in the spine.


	6. Hemostasis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hemostasis-(noun) a process in which the flow of blood from a wound is stopped; the first stage of wound healing
> 
> Several new characters are added to the party and Hero's Relics start showing up everywhere.

Melinda Hevring was in big trouble.

She stood at the entrance to the weapon exhibition hall, flashlight in one hand and fireball readied in the other. Her eyes swept the array of shields, swords and armor sets before settling on the source of the noise that had woken her: the glass case that held Aymr.

Or what was left of it, anyway.

Sighing deeply, she walked up to the edge of the destruction, shoes crunching on shards of supposedly-bulletproof glass. Who-or what-could have broken this? And how was she supposed to get the axe back? 

All she wanted to do was nap. She'd only dozed off for a half-hour or so, and then this happened. They hadn't had a robbery in years, and just when she was up for a pay raise, this had to happen! 

"Is there a problem, Melinda?"

Oh, and her boss was here too. With a big-shot professor from Garreg Mach University who wanted to see Aymr in person. Yeah, she was screwed.

"Um...I'm not sure how to say this, but....I think we may have been robbed." She turned to face her superior and their guest, mentally preparing herself for the torrent of scolding she was about to endure. "The axe-it's gone."

"Gone? Impossible, that glass is shatter-proof! We have cameras and motion sensors everywhere!" Her boss stomped towards the destroyed case, grumbling as he inspected the area. "This is such a pain in the ass. Why tonight, of all nights?" He turned and jabbed a finger into her chest. "Why weren't you watching the cameras?"

"I fell asleep-only briefly-and the new hire agreed to watch them while I napped. When I woke up, she was gone and so was the axe!" Melissa threw her hands up. "It was only a half hour! I wasn't expecting something like this to happen-why would someone even steal an ancient battleaxe?"

Her boss turned to the professor, who seemed somewhat bored, checking his watch every now and again. "I am so sorry, sir. We haven't had a robbery in years now, and security isn't normally this...lax." The glare he shot her way practically burned through her chest. She was so fired. "Can you come back at a later date?"

The professor chuckled. "Well, it seems I may have to. No sense in examining thin air, now is there?" Her boss visibly relaxed, laughing along with him. "I'll escort you back to the entrance, sir." Melinda turned, planning to get out of there before they realized she was still present.

"Oh, and Hevring? My office. Now."

She was so fired.

A few minutes later, she sat in his office, legs swinging as she squirmed on the hard chair. The clock on the wall was unbearably loud in its' ticking. Her boss still hadn't shown up. How long did it take to escort someone to the entrance, again? Surely not this long.

There was a knock on the door. Groaning, she got up, stretching, and opened it, bracing herself.

It wasn't her boss. It was the new hire, who grinned at her. "Sorry 'bout that, Lindsay. Popped next door to grab a cuppa joe, and when I come back this happened! What a surprise, huh?" She bounced up and down on the balls of her feet.

Melinda gritted her teeth. "My name is Melinda, not 'Lindsay'. And you had one job. One! Just sit there for a good thirty minutes while I attempt to catch a few winks! Now I'm getting blamed for this mess! Thanks for nothing." Goddess, the girl was annoying. What was her name again? Kenya? Kanna? Whatever. Stupid fake accent, stupid dyed orange hair, stupid neon nail polish-

Neon nail polish. It had been immaculate when she'd first shown it off, shoving her damn nails in Melinda's face. Now it was chipped.

"And your nails are chipped. What'd you do, fight off a pack of wild dogs for your coffee?" The girl looked down. "Oh! Dearie me, I didn't even notice! Thanks for warning me." She scrutinized them carefully, picking out a shard of something that had become embedded in the quick. 

Glass.

Melinda bent down and picked the tiny glass shard up off the carpet, holding it up to the light. "Mind telling me why you have a shard of glass stuck in your polish, Ken...Kan...whatever your name is!?" The girl froze, staring at the piece she held. A wicked smile split her face, white teeth showing. "Goodness. Aren't you clever? Too bad. Looks like my work's not done yet. Gonna have to make you go bye-bye too!"

The knife came out of nowhere, arcing down towards her chest. Melinda dodged to the side at the last second, but the knife still grazed her, catching in her ribs. The sharp pain made her gasp as blood seeped from the open wound and stained her uniform. Melinda's stomach heaved at the sight. The girl wound up for a second strike. "Sloppy. Look at you, making me work for the kill!" 

"Oh, I'll make you work, alright!" Her heart pounded in her chest as she hurriedly drew the sigil, tracing glowing lines in midair. "Sagittae!"

Glimmering arrows materialized from the center of the circle, aiming themselves at the shocked girl. "What the-You can't touch-Augh!" She was cut off as the arrows shot through her torso, knocking her backwards. The knife flew out of her hands and embedded itself in the floor. Both girls slumped against the wall, Melinda readying another spell and the girl scrambling towards the weapon. Another volley of light arrows shot from Melinda's outstretched hand, warding her away. 

The girl grumbled, as if this was a minor inconvenience and not a life-or-death situation. "Fine. Whatever. It doesn't matter what you do, our plans are already in motion. We have Aymr-the real one. not your stupid phony-and Freikugel. That stupid little Goneril bimbo we have in custody won't be so cocky when she's under our control. And as for the Hresvelg girl..." Her eyes glimmered. "Oh, to be a fly on the wall when her true power is unleashed! It will be glorious!"

"What in Sothis' name are you talking about? What plans? Who are you?" Melinda's head spun with a combination of confusion and blood loss.

"I am Kronya, the Gleaming Blade of the Agarthans. And your days are numbered, insect." With that, the girl reached into her pocket and withdrew a bottle of glimmering power, throwing it to the ground. "Warp!" 

Melinda coughed as the cloud of glittering powder reached her. By the time her lungs had returned to normal, the girl-Kronya-was gone. "Make you go bye-bye....too? What did she mean? What was she even-ugh." The wound in her side ached as she spoke to no one in particular. "Better start healing this before I go anywhere." She averted her eyes, navigating by feel alone, so she wouldn't have to see the bloodstain. A sigh of relief left her lips as the magic flowed from her hands, dulling the pain and closing the wound. She'd still have to visit a clinic-this was a hasty spell, and there could be complications-but for now she was okay.

Straightening up, she walked stiffly to the lobby, already dreaming of her soft, comfy mattress waiting for her back at the med student dorms. What she wouldn't give to sleep for a day-no, a week, after something like that.

Judging by what she saw in the lobby, however, she wouldn't be sleeping anytime soon.

Police swarmed the area, canvassing the exhibits, photographing the smashed display case, and clustering around something in the middle of the area. As she drew closer, one of the officers stepped away to speak with his colleagues, revealing the body of her boss, now deceased. Lying in a pool of his own blood.

"Sweet Sothis." One of the officers turned towards her as she approached. "I-I didn't even know....what that girl said....Oh Goddess, help me." The ground rushed up to meet her as the blood loss, shock, exhaustion and fear finally took their collective toll. She had never noticed how damn comfortable the carpet was until now. Maybe she could stay here for awhile.

******************************************************************************************************************************************************

When she woke, she was in a hospital bed, connected to a beeping monitor, with bandages swathing her side. She was glad for the painkillers they had likely given her; without them, she'd be feeling the deep ache of severed muscle fibers, combined with the surface cut. It still twinged when she breathed, though.

"-me in? I'm telling you, I'm her roommate and her friend! Why would I lie about something like this, huh?"

Melinda could recognize that voice from a mile away. Anyone could, really, due to the fact that the owner of said voice was quite boisterous and loud.

"I'm telling you-lemme through!" The source of the commotion shoved her way past the flustered nurse and rushed to Melinda's side. "Lin! Oh my Goddess, are you okay? I heard the news and came as fast as I can! Are you in pain? Can you speak? How many fingers am I holding up-" "I'm fine, Cassie. No need to worry." 

Cassandra Bergliez relaxed slightly at the sound of her friend's voice, face red from yelling and cropped aqua hair frizzing around her skull. "Oh, okay. Sure you don't need, I dunno, a pillow, or a glass of water? I brought you flowers." She produced a wilted bouquet. "They got a little frazzled on the way here cuz I was running so fast. Sorry."

"It's fine, it's fine." Melinda groaned and sank back into her bed. "I just...I'm tired, okay? I've had a long day, I'm probably fired but maybe not because my boss was murdered, and I have a nice flesh wound in my side. I just want to sleep." Cassie pouted. "You always want to sleep, Lin. That isn't much of a change."

"Well, this time I have a good reason for wanting to sleep. You can stay if you want, but...don't make too much noise, okay?" With that, Melinda turned over, pulled up the scratchy white hospital sheets, and started snoring.

"Wow. I have never seen someone fall asleep that fast." Cassie was truly impressed by her friend's dedication to beauty rest. And she was beautiful, really-forest green hair falling down to her shoulders, sleepy eyes, plump lips that she would give her right arm to kiss just once-

"Argh!" Cassie grabbed a pillow and groaned into it, so as not to wake the sleeping Melinda. She could do one-hundred push-ups without breaking a sweat. She could punt a football across Central Park. She could bike from the inner city to the outskirts in 10 minutes flat. The one thing she couldn't do? Tell her crush how she felt. Even though they were roommates. She saw her every damn day, and she still couldn't work up the courage! She was Cassie Bergliez, for Sothis' sake! Starting quarterback for the Garreg Mach University Eagles! Envy of the entire school! Why was this so hard?

Flopping down into a chair next to the bed, she buried her face in her hands and scrunched up her eyes, rubbing them until she saw colors. What was she going to do? She couldn't even get flowers right.

"Psst."

Looking up, Cassie didn't see the source of the noise. Was she hearing things?

"Pssssst!"

Her head whipped around. There was a white-haired girl, standing in the hall, trying desperately not to look conspicuous. This was negated somewhat by the loud redhead girl and sullen green-haired boy who were with her. Belatedly, she stood up and leaned on the doorway. "Whaddya want? My friend here's trying to sleep, and she's had one hell of a day, so if you're looking to bother her, beat it!"

"No, it's not that, it's..." The girl looked around before whispering. "Is your, um, friend the museum guard who was caught up in last night's robbery?"

"Yeah....What of it?"

"We may, ah, rather I may have....um....stolen Aymr. Accidentally. And we think it might be connected to the other axe being stolen, and the attack on the museum." Cassie's eyes just about bugged out of her head. "YOU WHAT!?"

The girl darted forward and clapped a hand over her mouth. "Not so loud! I'm not supposed to be up here, but we're not here to hurt your friend. We just want to help figure out what happened, because I have no memory of stealing Aymr, and now another Relic has gone missing and turned up at a crime scene! We want to get to the bottom of this before anyone else gets hurt."

Cassie pinched the bridge of her nose. "You sound suuuper sketchy, but fine. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. But just who are you, anyway."

"Oh. Um, allow me to introduce myself. Edith von Hresvelg, at your service."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to pull back from the main character to focus on the museum heist, but from a different angle. And if you're wondering how the TWSITD impersonators got their hands on Aymr-even though Edith already has it-don't worry. All will be revealed....later on, when I get around to writing it.


	7. Cacaphony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cacaphony-(noun) a harsh, discordant mixture of sounds
> 
> The murderer is found, but is she truly the perpetrator?
> 
> The Golden Deer have entered the chat.

When she was young, Hildegard loved her name.

It was an old one, an ancient one, hearkening back to the days of knighthood and lords, back to the days when the blood running through her veins would have set her apart in every way. Now, it was practically useless, what with the advent of newer, safer Crest implantation surgeries. She was a pureblood Crest-bearer, and that didn't matter-not to her, not to her family, not to society. She wanted to walk alone. She wanted to start her own company, she wanted to go out and party, she wanted to read books and meet people.

Her mother, elegant as always, dripping with jewelry she'd made herself, exhaled smoke from her cigarette as she mulled over what her daughter had just told her. "Darling," she finally said, "your heart leads, and you follow. Go where you must." 

Her family were once nobles, now jewelers, and she was a young girl from Leicester who'd traveled to Enbarr to study business. She'd cast aside her name, useless and antiquated, like her Crest, and burst onto the Garreg Mach University dating scene like a bubblegum pop. 

Oh, she should have suspected. He was too nice, and too sweet, and so eager to buy her another drink, so eager to take her home when she could barely walk. She didn't even realize what was going on until they shoved her into the back of the van and slammed the doors on her. She had no idea where they were going, what they would do to her, and the alcohol and the stress boiled up from her stomach onto the floor. 

She'd passed out at some point. She vaguely remembered being tied to a chair, there was a needle filled with bright red liquid, and there was fire in her veins. They gave her the axe, they gave her Freikugel, and she had screamed and raged and tore the place apart as they stood safely back and watched. 

The woman. Eyes wide, mouth taped, tears streaking down her cheeks. A small part of her had realized then what was happening, but her mind and her body were no longer on speaking terms, and her arms swung down, down, down.

She'd vomited again when the drug wore off, when they left her, curled up in a tiny ball, to be found by the police. Hildegard Valencia Goneril, the daughter of jewelers, the girl with the bubblegum hair, fallen so low.

When the light blinded her, she thought the Goddess had come for her sorry soul. It took her a moment to realize that she was being healed. A woman, with mint-green hair, hands outstretched. 

"Who are you?" she'd croaked, throat raw. The woman had smiled. "Call me...Leanna. Leanna St. Cichol." She'd picked her up, swaying to her feet, and carried her out of the warehouse. "Don't worry-I'm taking you somewhere safe." Leanna was nice, she decided. She was nice and she smelled like the ocean...and she was drifting off again.....

*****************************************************************************************************************************************************

"Drive, dammit, drive!" Cassandra egged Melinda on from the passenger seat as Edith, Fernanda, and Hugh clung to the back for dear life. "We need to find that axe before someone else takes it!" "I know, but I can't go any faster, this car is on its' last legs!" As if to prove Linda's point, her car gave a belch of smoke and started rolling uncontrollably down the hill. "And my brakes just died....Joy." She'd escaped death just 24 hours ago, and now it had come back for Round 2.

"Your WHAT? Oh Goddess no, I am not dying here! Move!" Edith clambered into the front seat and yanked up on the emergency brake lever. The car screeched, still rolling as sparks trailed behind it. Fernanda yelped. "Oh, this is not good! What'll happen to my brand if we die?"

"We aren't stopping! Bail! BAIL!" Cassandra opened the door, hesitating when she saw how fast they were going. Edith reached and pulled it back shut. "If we jump now, we'll crash into oncoming traffic!" 

Cassandra gestured angrily at the road, which ended in about 1,000 meters. A wrought iron fence-which would do nothing to stop them-stretched across the edge of the canal that glistened serenely beyond. "If we don't jump, we'll run out of road!"

Linda desperately tried to steer them away from the other vehicles, hoping they'd slow down enough by the time they reached the canal. She knew they wouldn't be able to, and scrunched her eyes shut. The car cut across two lanes of traffic, barely avoiding several trucks, before tearing through the fence and plunging into the canal.

Immediately, the car started to sink, water filling the bottom. Cassandra tried to force the door open, but it wouldn't budge. Hugh shouted something about opening the windows from the back, but the mechanism had short-circuited. Out of options, she elbowed the window as hard as she could. A spiderweb of cracks appeared, but the window stayed intact. As she desperately hammered away at the glass, her mind went to her teammates, her coach. Would they grieve when they found her waterlogged corpse? If they ever found it? The water was still rising, now up to Cassandra's waist.

There was motion from the back, sending ripples outward on the water's turbulent surface, as Edith shoved her way to the front again. 

Edith closed her eyes, trying to remember what she'd read about this. The edges were the weakest part, so she had to strike there, and quickly. Melinda's wound was reopened, and she was glancing around nervously, attempting to heal herself. Cassandra had given up on the window and hugged her knees, breathing quickly. Hugh was scrambling, looking for something to break the glass with, as Fernanda clawed at the rear window. It was up to her now.

She clenched her fists and struck at the edge. A few chips came off. Again, and the cracks widened, but the window held fast. She wasn't strong enough, they wouldn't make it out in time!

No, she was not dying here. She had to remain calm. Pulling her arm back and winding up, she focused, taking in a deep breath that swelled into her chest and calmed her nerves. She was Edith von Hresvelg. Her ancestors did not fight a war for her to die here. She was going to live!

A blinding light filled her vision as electricity surged through her veins. As she threw the punch, a strange sigil appeared before her, all glowing lines and odd symbols.

_A crest! ___

__The window shattered. Water rushed in as she surged out through the hole, floating above the canal bottom. Spying the door handle, she saw a piece of metal wedged in between it and the car. She yanked it out and tugged on the handle. The door opened, and the other four rushed out, hair and clothes floating around them as they made a break for the surface._ _

__Edith gasped as her head broke through the water, blessed oxygen filling her lungs. Glancing around her, she saw the others coughing and sputtering, but still afloat. Her sigh of relief was proven to be unwarranted when she turned back around and saw what lay ahead: a waterfall. The canals all drained into the reservoir._ _

__"Oh, Goddess help us." Edith wasn't religious, but whatever help she could get she'd take, especially now. She took a shaky breath as they went over._ _

__******************************************************************************************************************************************************************  
There were two fingers pressed to the side of her neck, measuring her pulse. They were warm, the skin soft and the nails neatly trimmed._ _

__Edith's eyes flew open. She was lying on the edge of the reservoir, on a beach of pebbles. Cassandra was helping a sodden Melinda up, pressing her shirt to the wound on her side. Hugh was coughing, water being expelled from his lungs at an alarming rate, as Fernanda, orange hair filled with algae, patted him on the back. And there was a woman kneeling next to her. Her hair, a strange shade of green, hung down in twin curls, and her eyes, which were a similar color, were full of worry._ _

__She brightened when Edith looked at her. "Oh, thank the Goddess-you're okay. You had me worried for a moment there." The woman's smile was bright and sincere as she spoke softly, weaving a healing spell. Several cuts and scrapes on Edith's skin closed, and she felt a strange warmth. For the first time, she realized how cold-and tired-she was, sitting up and hugging herself tightly. "W-who are you? Where are....how did we get here?"_ _

__"I'm Leanna. My father and I live near here, at the edge of the Reservoir District. Sometimes, I come here to fish, and I saw you washed up here. I'm actually a professor at GSU-my discipline is the medical sciences-so I did what I could, but I worried you might be seriously injured. Can you stand?" The woman extended a hand, helping her up. "How many fingers am I holding up." Edith squinted-she was a little shaken, but mostly okay-and answered "Two." The woman nodded. "Who's the Prime Minister?"_ _

__She sighed. "Lugner, unfortunately. Partisan hack, all the corporations have him in their back pocket." Leanna laughed. "If you can remember enough to complain about the government, you're pretty well off. Come, let's get you all some dry clothes."_ _

__They staggered, dripping wet, teeth chattering, to a small cottage on the edge of the reservoir. Leanna ushered them inside, calling out as she did so. "Father? Father, we have more guests."_ _

__There was a beleaguered sigh from the other room. "Leanna, how many stray students are we going to take in today?" Edith furrowed her brow. "We aren't the first people you've taken in?" Cassandra cut in. "Yeah, how do we know you aren't serial killers?"_ _

__"Oh, heavens, no. I was out shopping and heard a noise. I decided to investigate, and found this poor girl, abandoned in a warehouse, half-dead! Of course I had to take her in. And we get strays all the time. Plenty of people wash up on the stone beaches, for one reason or another..." Leanna's eyes were downcast. "Many of them students. No way to pay tuition, loan sharks breathing down their necks...The poor things just...give up."_ _

__"Leanna, dear, don't make our guests uncomfortable, as many as we have..." The source of the voice hobbled into the room. An older gentleman, who bore a resemblance to Leanna, but with darker green hair, leaning on a carved oak-wood cane. The wrinkles around his eyes shifted as he looked them over. "Oh, Goddess. My apologies for my daughter, she can get very wrapped up in things. I'm her father, Stuart St. Cichol."_ _

__Edith nodded in deference. "A pleasure to meet you. This is Cassandra, Melinda, Hugh, and I'm Edith. Edith von Hresvelg. I'd shake your hand, but..." There was a considerable amount of pond scum coating Edith. The fortune that was most likely spent on her new outfit had gone to waste. "We're a bit wet at the moment." Staurt waved her off. "Ah, no need. Do you want some tea?"_ _

__There was a resounding, yet somewhat muted, chorus of "Yes" from the party as they clustered around the radiator, sighing as the hot air washed over them._ _

__***************************************************************************************************************************************************************  
Edith left the living room to explore soon after she had finished her tea-a bit weak, but still good. The cottage wasn't lavish, but rather quaint, decorated in browns and greens. A mess of fishing tackle sat in the corner, with several poles sitting proudly up against a wooden rack. There were several fishes stuffed and mounted on the wall, each meticulously labeled and placed, from every corner of Fodlan: queen loaches, bullheads, even a Fodlandy._ _

__Cautiously, she ventured upstairs, looking for the alleged other student. A sound caught her ear as she walked past a small bedroom, and she ducked inside, flipping the light switch on the wall. There, on the bed, lay a pink-haired girl, sleeping. Edith could see her eyes moving underneath the lids, and she mumbled as she shifted slightly._ _

__"No.....not the axe.....don't give me the axe, I might.....hurt someone.....my name......isn't......Goneril!"_ _

__She jerked awake, gasping. "Wha-Where am I? Who are you?" She fumbled for something to defend herself, brandishing a hairbrush before realizing what it was and deflating visibly. "D-don't hurt me!"_ _

__"I...I'm Edith. Edith von Hresvelg. My....friends and I....got taken in by the same people who apparently found you. You're safe. Um...you were mumbling something about an axe in your sleep. Can you tell me what, exactly, that axe looked like? And why...why you....uhh...."_ _

__"Killed someone with it?" the girl finished. "I don't know. Some people, they kidnapped me, and injected me with this strange liquid-it looked like blood, but it glowed. And then they put the axe in my hands, and I.....and I......I...." The girl put her face in her hands, sobbing. "I couldn't control it-I just....just-I didn't mean to...."_ _

__Edith moved to her side, placing an arm around her shaking shoulders. "Shh, it's okay. We're going to find out who did this to you, and we're going to stop them. Can you tell me your name?" A sneaking suspicion crept up from the depths of her gut, confirmed when the girl answered "Hildegard Valenica Goneril...."_ _

__The Goneril axe. Freikugel. Somehow, the Relic had taken her over._ _

__Edith briefly felt an ancient revulsion stir in her stomach, as if she and Edelgard were recoiling as one, before she fell into the blackness._ _


	8. Interlude: Enbarr Museum of History, Exhibit B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A book of fables, donated by a private collector the museum, is discovered to have a unique story within its' pages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As some people have probably noticed, updates to this are few and far between, due to a combination of factors including but not limited to school and depression. I'm still trying to get used to my new schedule, but once I get into the swing of things, I'll start posting real chapters more often. For now, a thinly-veiled allegory.

_This book of fables is dated to Imperial Year 1190, five years after the War of Fodlan Unification, commonly known as the Black Eagle War. It was donated by a private collector, who had recently been gifted several tomes and had no particular interest in this one. Notably, the book is incredibly well preserved; there is no dry rot, mildew or water damage, and the book appears to be only slightly worn. The cover is fine green leather, with designs embossed in copper on the cover. The title is faded, and parts of it are no longer decipherable; it appears to say "A Collecti-- Of Assorted Fables, St--s, and Tales from Across Fod--n" The names of the two authors are worn away as well, with one reading "Se--h St. Ci--ol" and the other "Bern----ta vo- Va--l--". The second author is assumed to be the Bear Countess of Varley, Bernadetta I, who was renowned for her skill with a pen and her reclusive nature. The book's illustrations are lavish and colorful, with depictions of knights, princesses, dragons and the like._

_Below, a selected fable from the book is inscribed. It is unique in that no records of it are found anywhere else within the Museum's archives; the others are well-known stories such as 'Loog and the Maiden of Wind', 'The Wandering Swordsman', and 'The Hall of the Wyvern-King'. However, this one appears to not have been copied, and is for now assumed to be exclusive to this book. Some scholars have posited that it is an allegory for the Black Eagle War, specifically the conflict between the Archbishop Rhea and Edelgard I, and that it was censored by the remnants of the Church._

~The Eagle and the Wyvern~

Once upon a time, in a forest not so far from here, there lived a Wyvern. She was kindly and good-natured, and had been taught by her mother that, since she possessed the power and strength of a wyvern, it was her duty to protect those weaker than her. Upon one particular day, the Wyvern was perched in an oak tree, happily feasting upon the acorns that it bore, when she heard a voice.

"Help! Help!" it said. Quickly, the Wyvern spread her great wings, and took to the skies. From her lofty view, she saw an Eagle beset by a pack of wolves. His wing was injured, and so he could not fly away from his attackers. Rushing to his aid, the Wyvern drove off the wolves with tooth and claw, saving the Eagle from being eaten.

The Eagle was grateful, and fell down before her, proclaiming "Thank you! Surely, you are the kindest of all creatures!" The Wyvern swelled with pride, knowing she had done right, just as her mother had instructed. 

Once the Eagle's wings had healed, he began to bring the Wyvern the acorns she loved so much, so that she would not have to hover and pluck them, one by one, from the tree. He did this out of gratitude, and both were happy.

Soon, word of the Wyvern's goodness had spread across the forest, and creatures, big and small, would come to her for help and advice. In exchange, they would bring her all the food she could eat, and then some, in a display of their gratefulness. The Wyvern became used to such treatment, and grew fat and happy.

However, all was not well within the forest. The same pack of wolves that had once menaced the Eagle, angry and spurned, came creeping back into the wood, terrorizing the creatures again. They set themselves upon an Eaglet, the great-great-granddaughter of the Eagle, and she cried out "Help! Help!" just as her ancestor had. However, the Wyvern had become complacent and lazy, and was too busy napping in her oak tree to hear her cries.

The Eaglet, though she survived, was left with tattered wings, and was unable to soar like many of her brethren. As she grew older, and saw the others of her kind wheeling about in the sky, she became angry, for the Wyvern's laziness not only had endangered her, but also the whole forest.

Raising a small army of woodland creatures, the Eaglet came to the Wyvern's tree and demanded that she step down. The Wyvern simply laughed, and said "What can a little Eaglet like you do against one as powerful as me?"

"This!" the Eaglet replied, and fiercely attacked the Wyvern. So savage were her claws that she and her band of creatures drove the Wyvern away from the tree. The Wyvern, sore and bleeding, was forced to leave the forest, and never again tasted the acorns she had once feasted upon by the dozen. "If only I had heeded the words of my mother, I would still be most beloved among the forest creatures." the Wyvern lamented.

The moral of the story: If you are given power, you must use it for the good of others, lest you become lazy and neglect your duties.

~End~


	9. Benthos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> benthos-(noun) the flora and fauna living on the bottom of a body of water
> 
> Theo drives, Leanna fishes, Piers makes a splash and Bernie just wants to be left alone.
> 
> The rest of the Black Eagles have entered the chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who's ready for some ~trans and non-binary representation~! 
> 
> Content Warning: transphobia, deadnaming 
> 
> (Theo and Bernie have switched parents, in that Theo's parents are awful people and Bernie doesn't have any)

His name is Theo.

This is why he doesn't visit his parents, he thinks, as he drives home, white-knuckling the wheel of his beat-up car. Not as beat-up as the one he gave to that med student (Linde? Linda?) but still one good pothole away from being turned into a scrap heap. And given how many potholes there are in the 'bad' parts of Enbarr...Needless to say, he drives carefully. He can't afford to fix this thing again, not if he ever wants to save up enough for....oh, who is he kidding?

He looks down at his chest. Finally got ahold of a decent binder, but there's still the slightest swell. Still better than going through a full roll of bandages every week. This would be so much easier if he had the money, if he could pay to get these.....things.....removed. That's another reason he doesn't visit his parents. They had the audacity to deadname him, and then they gasped in horror when he ( _he, not 'her'_ , get it right) had told them he was saving for top surgery. 

"They're just...they're like tumors, Ma. They don't really mean anything to me, they're just lumps on my chest that I'd rather not have. So I'm getting them removed, as soon as I can get the money. And before you start yelling at me, I am a grown man. I can do what I want with my body."

Dad had flipped his lid. "Grown _woman_! You are a _girl_ , Theodosia! For the love of Sothis, get it through your head! You were born a girl, you grew up a girl, and you will always be a girl in the eyes of the Goddess who made you! This silly delusion of yours needs to stop." He'd turned his face away so Dad wouldn't see him crying, treacherous tears rolling down his face, smearing his mascara. He'd looked plaintively at Ma for help, but she sat there, pursing her lips, eyes full of worry. They flicked between her husband and son before she sighed and left the room. He would get sympathy, but no help, from her.

"Fine. If you're going to-going to act like a toddler throwing a fit, I'm leaving. Don't call. Don't visit. Don't try to contact me. Goodbye, Dad." He stood, turned on his heel, and walked right out the door, perfectly poised as always. Only when he had made it back to his car did the tears begin to flow in earnest.

He drove, for a few hours, before parking near the reservoir and resolving to re-do his makeup, get a nice cup of coffee, and not give his sperm-and-egg donors a second thought. 

The closest cafe is a small one-he's tall, so he has to duck under the doorframe-but it's apparently a nice one, and their espresso is said to be the best in all Enbarr. The barista is nice. She takes one look at the mascara streaks that he hasn't quite managed to clean up, puts a finger to her lips and slides him a gift card on the down-low. The coffee's nice, too. The aroma bursts in his mouth, and it's smooth going down. Putting his cup down, he surveys the small room. Wood paneling, a few watercolor paintings on the walls, bookshelf in the corner stocked with board games. Only one other patron, though.

He can't tell exactly what gender they are-not any of his business, really-but they have a mop of messy purple hair adorning their head, which is mostly hidden behind a fantasy novel. They seem to be attempting to disappear into the shadows of their corner booth.

Oh, he may as well try. He's always been good at pulling people out of their shells.

He sidles over and sits down across from them. They sink lower into their seat. He takes a deep breath and extends a hand, summoning his sunniest smile. "Hi, I'm Theodore! I haven't been to this place before, but you look like a regular. Any recommendations for a new guy?"

The purple mop lifts ever so slightly, and two nervous amethyst eyes peek out. "..............blueberrymuffinsaregood......"

"I'm sorry? Didn't quite catch that." The eyes lift to his face briefly before flicking back down. "Blueberry muffins. Good." With that, they bury themselves back into their novel. Theodore shrugs. Probably not a social person. A muffin does sound good, though.

A few minutes later, he plops back into his seat and takes two muffins out of a paper bag. "Thanks for the advice-I got you one, too." The eyes appear again, and this time they are hungry instead of worried. A hand covered by a sweater slowly reaches out, grabs the muffin, and retreats. He can hear munching sounds and crumbs falling to the ground as they devour the treat.

"......mynamesbernardvarleyandnoimnotaguy...." This time, they repeat themselves as soon as Theo looks confused. "Bernard Varley. Call me Bernie. Not a guy."

"Oh. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ms. Varley. Any relation to the Countess-"

"Not a girl." Theo pauses to consider. "Um...what should I call you, then?"

"Just...Bernie. They. Them." "Ok." 

Bernie is so startled by this they drop the book. "Waityou'renotgonnaarguewithmeaboutit?"

"Um....why would I argue about someone's pronouns? None of my beeswax, anyway." They look relieved. "Most people....don't like someone....who's not a girl or guy...They think it's...confusing. Butit'snotconfusingatallthegenderbinaryisstupidreallydunnowhywehaveit."

"Huh?" "Gender binary. Dumb."

Theo laughs. "Amen to that." He toasts Bernie with his muffin before digging in. He may have just found a new friend, maybe even a kindred spirit. This could be the start of something wonderful!

Bernie, meanwhile, waffles between 'annoying stranger please leave me be' and 'wait he's not bugging me about pronouns? friend?', so it's a start.

******************************************************************************************************************************************************  
Leanna stepped out of the room, letting Linda out before carefully closing the door so as not to wake the occupants. Once it was closed, Leanna slumped against the wall and sighed. "We now appear to have two fainted souls in this house. I wonder if it's the swamp air?"

Linda shrugged. "I think it has something to do with the fact that the pink-haired girl-Hildegard, I think she was called?-touched that Relic axe. She doesn't seem the type to just up and murder someone for the heck of it-which is why we were trying to get to the crime scene before the police did. Something fishy is going on here, and I don't think the police will see her favorably once they realize that's her family's axe-ugh." She clamped a hand to her side, where the wound had begun to bleed once more. Leanna gasped and rushed forward. "Careful-I just bandaged that. The healing magic needs to be renewed every so often, and taking a dip in the reservoir didn't help."

The green-haired woman helped her downstairs to the couch, where a grateful Melinda collapsed onto the couch. "You're lucky," Leanna scolded, "that you weren't more thoroughly injured in the crash. Your dedication to finding the root cause of this Relic business is admirable, but maybe you should leave this to the authorities."

Melinda sighed. "It was Edith's idea. Type A kinda gal, you know? Has to get everything done herself-and I don't blame her for wanting answers. Heck, I want answers about why they stole the axe last night, why it showed up at a murder scene the next morning, and why my coworker stabbed me. Probably connected, if you ask me."

Leanna narrowed her eyes. "The wound is unusual-who, exactly, stabbed you?"

"Stupid bubbly airhead, called herself 'Kronya', waaaay too happy about _murdering_ my boss and attempting to do the same here.....Are you okay?" Leanna's face had drained of color.

"I-it's fine, I've just heard that name before....If you ever see this 'Kronya' again, please promise me you'll stay out of her way. She's....dangerous. Very much so." Linda nodded and yawned. "Don't plan on crossing paths with her again unless I have to....I'm gonna nap again. Night."

Before Leanna could ask her any more questions, Melinda fell back to sleep.

Leanna massaged her temples, attempting to process what the med student had just said. If it was true, she and her father were at risk once more. Striding into the kitchen, she picked up her tackle kit and started lacing her boots, calling out to her father as she did so. "Father? I'm going to go see if I can land some fish for dinner. Please take care of our guests while I'm gone!"

Stuart waved her off from the dining room, where the still-conscious students gathered and sipped mugs of tea, chatting about their next move.

************************************************************************************************************************************************************  
Piers loved his motorcycle.

Gran used to tell him "You have the Flame Spirit runnin' through your veins, _mo chridhe_. You will be a wild one." She was right, he was wild. Sometimes he would feel like he had to be in constant motion, like lightning ran through his muscles and made them jump. He was restless, and his parents tried so hard to get him to straighten out, to no avail.

He'd taken his bike, his few belongings, and 50 dollars. He'd left a note: "Ma. Da. I've gone to join the Enbarr Reserve Corps. Gonna make use of this wildness in me. Love, Piers."

The freedom to roar down the freeway, hair streaming behind him, was worth the hours spent training and drilling. His sergeant gave him hell about the hair, but so far he'd successfully compromised: one side shaved, the other long and braided. Warriors of Brigid only needed two things: a fierce spirit and long hair. He had both, in spades. 

Weaving between cars, he sped down the off-ramp, easing off the gas and letting the momentum carry him. The afternoon sun was becoming a bit hot, even for him, and he knew the perfect place to cool off. Rolling down the side streets, he stopped and leaned his bike onto an oak tree, leaving his helmet and goggles on the seat. 

The pond fed off the reservoir, but tended to be cleaner, thanks to the mess of cattails at the entrance filtering the trash and pollution out. He stripped off his clothes and jumped in with a whoop, relishing the cool water on his skin. Opening his eyes, he saw a mass of small fishes, scattering away from the sudden disturbance. He could spend all day here, watching the fishes, letting the water cool the heat that boiled up under his skin.

At some point, a curious red blur appeared before him. He squinted in the murky water, trying to discern what kind of fish it was. It didn't budge as he edged closer; his nose was practically touching it and-ow!

There was a sudden piercing pain-the little bugger had bitten him!-and he swam to the surface, cursing as he ascended. " _Go dtachtfadh an diabhal thú_ -what the hell!" He fumbled at his nose, finding....a fish hook. He'd fallen for a lure. Looking up from the injury, he traced the fishing line it was attached to all the way to the shore, where a mortified woman sat, holding a pole. "Oh-oh Sothis, I'm so sorry! I know healing magic-let me help you!" The woman dropped the pole and waded into the middle of the pond, where he floated awkwardly.

"Ummm...thanks. I, uh, thought I was alone. No one else is coming-comes to this pond." Piers is glad that the water is opaque-he's already embarrassed, having to explain why he's skinny-dipping in broad daylight would be too much. "Uh...any luck?" The woman shrugs. "A few fish-normally enough for me and my father, but today we have guests. A bunch of college students crashed their car into the canal and went over into the reservoir! They washed up on our shore."

Piers perks up. "By any chance...Is one of these students pink-haired, goes by Hildegard?" The woman nods. "Found the poor dear apart from the others-in an abandoned warehouse, half-dead. Who's asking?"

"Um...she's my half-sister. And she's been missing for a month."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my personal headcanon is that Brigid's language is similar to Gaelic, hence Petra's Scottish-sounding last name and difficulty with English/Fodlan (Gaelic doesn't translate well into English).
> 
> 'mo chridhe'-my heart, a term of endearment
> 
> 'Go dtachtfadh an diabhal thú'-'may the Devil choke you', a curse
> 
> (feel free to yell at me if the translations are bad)


	10. Vilify

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> vilify-(verb) to speak or write about in an abusive or disparaging manner
> 
> Edith isn't sure how to feel about her ancestor and the Fantasy Mormons make their appearance.

Edith dreams again.

The colors are swirling, but in a different, more purposeful way this time. They shine with brilliant red, sickly white, glimmering gold. Slowly, they coalesce into the form of her ancestor, who opens the same lavender eyes she too possesses.

Edith has questions. Edith has _many_ questions. But, dream-land that this is, she cannot speak. Instead, she glares. Edelgard smiles faintly, before she and Edith both fade to black.

Their eyes open to reveal a battlefield.

Edith recognizes it as the ruins of Garreg Mach Monastery, but sometime before they became ruins. They're on their way to becoming the derelict relics that they currently are, however. She winces when a rouge fireball takes out an entire section of wall, striding forward to find the caster. The armor she's clad in is surprisingly light, shifting every now and then with a sudden movement or step. She hefts Aymr-the true one-in one hand and grasps a shield with the other.

A silver-and-gold plated knight on horseback charges her, shouting "Traitor! Heretic! You shall pay for defying the Goddess!" One swipe of her axe, and his steed crumples beneath him. Another, and his head is detached from his body. Edith, strangely, feels nothing. This is war. This is the cost of a new dawn. She keeps advancing, fighting like a woman possessed.

She is precise. Clinical. Cold, even. They fall like dominoes before her. She can feel something deep within tugging at her chest, but she tamps it down. Not here. Not now. No weakness, not in front of them. The time for blood and glory is now; the time for silent tears is later. They will thank her for this. They don't understand, but one day they will. History will vindicate her.

At least, she hopes it will.

But she has no room for such thoughts. Doubt and indecision are deadlier than any poison. The philosophers and scholars can pick apart her actions all they like; she must deal in absolutes or deal nothing at all. They would understand only if they had their flesh rent like hers, only if they fought by her side.

There. The bishop with the green hair. Whirling, they summon a great sweep of wind, flooring an entire battalion. She sets her jaw and charges. No fear, no cowardice. Not now. Not ever.

Her aim is true, her axe will find their neck, and oh, their eyes are verdant green and their lips are parted in surprise.

"Edelgard?"

Damn her. Damn herself and her sentimentality. Damn Rhea and all her machinations. Damn her children for diverting her charge with naught but a single word.

She spits the name out, like grit in her teeth. "Flayn. Or should I say Cethleann. _Saint_ Cethleann."

Cethleann's brow furrows. "I am no saint. But I must fight for my home anyway. I don't wish to stand against you, Edelgard. I wish there was another way...But you started a war. I cannot falter now." The dragon-child readies another gust. She raises her shield, deflecting the spell. "You stood against me the moment you stood with Rhea. You stood against me the moment you stood against humanity!" The axe whirls in her hands, tearing the small shield Cethleann carries off her arm.

The girl stumbles backward. "I am not against humankind! I am for humankind! But I do not approve of this senseless fighting!" A sudden whirlwind briefly lifts her off her feet. She scrambles to find something to grab onto, gauntlets catching the edge of a rampart. As the spell dies down, she lets go, bringing Aymr down on Cethleann's form far below.

She screams, falling to the ground. A gash, weeping emerald blood, has torn through her robes and into her pale skin. She strides forward, axe readied. "Enough. Any last words, Cethleann?"

The dragon gasps, trying to sit up, clutching her wound. Tears of pain and fear run down her cheeks. They tear into Edith's chest, but she must be cold. Her heart must be immovable, immutable stone. The being in front of her is no more a human than Edith is a dragon. They....she......Cethleann is a parasite, a tyrant. All of them are. They must be purged. 

Her eyes, wavering, lift to meet Edith's. Edith's resolve is shaken, ever so slightly. The dragon speaks, softly.

"Remember...remember when we were classmates? And I showed you how to cast a healing spell? You were so....frustrated. Not just with the spell-with the idea behind it. You told me you could not use Faith magic because you had no Faith. That the Goddess had abandoned you, long ago, in your hour of greatest need. And you were....angry. So angry."

Edith remembers this. She can feel her heart beginning to crack. She cannot-not here, not now.

"I told you what I knew...Little as it was. That the Goddess was not some all-seeing, all-knowing, all-powerful entity. That she was not in her statues or her churches....but in her people. She was in every kiss, every smile, every laugh. Every crumb of food shared with another. Every coin given to the needy. Every evening shared with friends. Every new dawn of every day. She was within all of us." Cethleann stiffens, coughing blood, before continuing, voice trembling as her tears grew larger. 

"The Goddess is in those who seek to change the world for the better. The Goddess is within _you_ , Edelgard. You can't see her, but I can. You are better than you think you are. Even if you don't have faith, I do. Faith in something greater. And that means I have faith in you, too." Cethleann shakes with exertion as she finishes talking. "I know...you're better than this...Edelgard. You can still make a way forward. A better way. One with less bloodshed. One with more life."

She doesn't understand, the sacrifices she's made, the pain she's felt. How could she understand, knowing nothing of such mortal things? And yet, for such a lie, she sounds sincere...

"Please, Edelgard. Release us. Release Fodlan."

There is a moment, stretched out like a fraying rope, strung across the space between them. Then two. Then three.

Parasite. Classmate. Tyrant. Girl. Dragon. Human.

Slowly, she lets Aymr fall from her grasp. It lands on the ground, glowing faintly before going out. Her eyes are closed, in a desperate attempt to keep the tears at bay. How dare this...this...... _dragon_ lecture her on faith......how could she know anything about being human......

A warm, bright sensation spreads through her veins. It spirals outward into the air, flowing towards the girl on the ground. Pausing above the wound on her torso, it hovers briefly before illuminating the wound, sewing it shut. Edith opens her eyes to see the last of the Faith magic dissipate. The girl's eyes are full of joy. Not malicious joy-actual happiness.

"Go." Her voice is hoarse. An enemy. A dragon. And she not only is letting her live, she inadvertently healed her, too. "Go!"

She falls to her knees as the bishop flees the field. Tearing off her gauntlets, she looks at her hands. She swore she would bloody them for the sake of her ideals. She must, or else all was in vain. 

Her traitorous heart is to blame. Brought low by emotion, she made an error in judgement. She will not do so again. Picking up her axe, she turns again towards the fighting. The war will not win itself.

*************************************************************************************************************************************************  
Edith wakes with more questions than answers. It doesn't help that Leanna and the others are hovering over her worryingly. "Edith? Are you okay?"

The hair. The eyes. Leanna is a descendant of Cethleann. Edelgard spared her and now her descendant stands before her. Too much. Too much.

"I'm...I'm fine. I just want to go hom-oh. Well, Hugh's house, anyway. Just...ugh." She heaves herself off the floor, ignoring Leanna's protests, and gathers her coat and Aymr from the rack. The sun is setting-two days since the accidental break-in. She needs tea. She needs to research. She needs answers. She needs her ancestor to get out of her head. Her arms ache, and this giant axe is still light as a feather somehow.

The bus ride home is a blur. Somehow, Fernanda's wallet-"It's waterproof! Isn't that handy!"-survived the plunge, and she pays their fare. The bus driver takes one look at them and decides not to ask questions. He is Edith's new favorite person.

Hugh's condo is a short walk from the bus stop. He and Fernanda support her-she feels as if she's still falling-and Cassie helps Melinda limp along. They are a sorry group, strung out along the cracked sidewalk, and the few people they pass give them looks ranging from disgust to pity to understanding. Edith can feel their eyes on her bedraggled white hair. She hates their burning gazes.

Melinda, being injured, gets first crack at the shower. The others lounge on the couch and the pull-out bed, staring awkwardly at each other. Fernanda breaks the silence. "I don't think we've been properly introduced...I'm Fernanda Lucia Aegir." Cassie stares blankly. Fernanda adds "MorningStar101." Cassie's eyes about pop out of her head. " _The_ MorningStar101? Can I get your autograph?!" Fernanda sighs. "Maybe later-I'm tired right now." Edith pipes up from next to her, yawning. "Edith von Hresvelg. Former heiress. Current dropout. Wielder of this stupid ancient axe, for some reason. Nice to meet you." She gestures to Hugh, who continues. "Hugh Bertram Vestra. History major. Sophomore at GSU."

Cassie nods. "I'm Cassandra Bergliez. Junior. First-string quarterback for the GSU Eagles. You might have heard of me?" She flexes her admittedly-impressive biceps for emphasis. The others didn't look overly impressed, so she continued. "And the other one is my....friend, Melinda Hevring. Med student, night-shift museum guard. So now that we know each other a bit more, why don't we start.....I dunno, trying to figure out exactly what just happened? Cause my head is still spinning."

The others nod as Hugh drags a whiteboard out from the corner of the room. "Okay. So, we obviously need to establish a timeline of events and determine what we know and what we need to find out." He scribbles on the board. "Edith. Where was the moon when you 'robbed' the museum?"

"Umm....I believe directly above me." 

"Okay, so around midnight is when that happened. Then, Melinda got hurt and the museum was robbed around 2 AM, two hours later. We know that Edith got there first, and took the Aymr from the display case. Then, the thieves took the Aymr from the vault. We don't know which is which-either one could be a recreation, but we're assuming we have the real one, because the professor who was visiting that night requested that it be brought out.

Around 2 AM is also when Edith showed up at my door, so she had nothing to do with the second robbery. The next day, we went to Fernanda's for a few hours. Then, around noon, we learned that an axe had been stolen. We came back, but found Aymr still intact, so we then figured out that Freikugel was stolen instead. We went to the hospital around 4 PM, to see if Melinda had any information, and around 4:30 we realized there'd been a murder with Freikugel. We then snuck Melinda and Cassie out of the hospital and got to her car in the parking garage. Around 5 PM, as we were making our way down Gronder Street, the brakes failed and we plunged into the canal. We were rescued by Leanna, spent a few hours at their house, until Edith collapsed. We know that the Goneril girl is safe with them-they're weird, but harmless-so we came back here and it is now....9 PM." Hugh caps the marker and turns to the rest of the group. "Any questions?"

He's met with a chorus of blank stares. Edith has fallen asleep on Fernanda's arm. She dreams in the colors again. They're a nice teal-and-turquoise sea, flecked with gold. She thinks it might be Edelgard's apology for making her see the battle and mumbles her acceptance in her sleep. Fernanda is slightly weirded out, but doesn't move for fear of waking her.

Her efforts are in vain, for just a few seconds later, as Hugh is opening his mouth to speak again, they're interrupted by a knock on the door.

He sighs. "So help me, if it's yet another washed-up collegiate student in desperate need of lodging, I'm full up." Striding over to the door, he opens it slightly. 

Two people-a man and a woman-stand before him, smiling serenely. Their white robes, accented with green, reach down to their feet, and they're both clutching books emblazoned with the words "Codex Altissimi" on the covers. The woman clears her throat and speaks. "Blessed evening. Have you received the Word?"

Hugh stifles the groan bubbling up in his throat and speaks. "I've already given to you guys last week. Can you please leave me alone?"

The woman smiles again. "Oh, we're sorry to be a bother. We are simply trying to spread the good news!" The man nods ecstatically, but keeps silent.

"We don't need any of your _good news_." Edith comes up behind him, having been woken by the knocking. "I believe my friend here has already asked you to leave, and I suggest you do so before we call the cops." Her purple eyes are filled with barely-contained rage, and she looks like she's seething beneath her skin.

Surprisingly, neither of the proselytizers even flinch, even through Edith's words are tipped with steel. "I see we shall not reach your hearts just.....hold a moment." The woman's omnipresent smile fades briefly. "Are you, by any chance, a Hresvelg?"

"And what if I am?" Edith crosses her arms. The woman's smile returns. "Oh, nothing. You just remind me....of an old friend. That's all. We'll be leaving you be now. And if you ever wish to receive the word, simply come to our temple and ask for Sister Charity." Both of them bow, reciting in unison: "We are the Beloved of Seiros, and we wish her blessings upon you." They turn and shuffle away, the woman leading the man by the hand.

Edith can't help but be unsettled by his demeanor. His smile never once wavered or faded as they spoke, and he seemed....blank. Empty. Devoid of all thought.

Then, it happens.

Edith feels a great sense of vertigo, like the ground is falling away from her feet, and her stomach roils. She squeezes her eyes shut briefly. When she opens them, she sees a single figure walking away. A woman, wearing similar robes, but far more ornate, with a golden headdress garnished with lilies atop a long mane of light green hair. The exact same shade, in fact, as Leanna and Stuart.

The woman turns towards her, briefly, before continuing her walk. But what Edith sees in her expression shakes her to her very core.

Her smile is serene. Her skin is flawless. But her green eyes are full of malice. They burn into her soul like a sunbeam through a magnifying glass. They fix her to the spot and fill her with a terrible yet inexplicable rage.

The vision fades and the two figures, now at the end of the street, recede into the evening fog as Edith trembles slightly, before shutting the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look, I know El is low-key racist against the Nabateans, but I honestly can't see her just cutting down Flayn-Flayn, of all people!-in cold blood. I pictured her letting Flayn go, against her better judgement, and claiming that she killed her to Arundel and the rest of TWSITD. The only Nabatean she has direct beef with is Rhea-the others are only guilty by association. Besides, this is CF (with a bit of VW) Edelgard, who calms down and dials back the whole 'let's raise an army and become fascists' thing a few notches.
> 
> In case you couldn't tell, I'm also leery of most organized religion, so the Church never sat right with me. It should be noted, however, that there is a distinct difference between the modern Church and the Beloved...
> 
> (look i enjoy all the lords but El represents my long-repressed desires to burn the system to the ground kthanksbye)


	11. Genuflect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> genuflect-(verb) to lower one's body briefly by bending one knee to the ground, typically in worship or as a sign of respect
> 
> The remaining Eagles stumble onto each other entirely by (extremely contrived) chance, and Edith dislikes organized religion.
> 
> Content warning-Deliberate misuse of pronouns, aro/acephobia (because Bernie's dad is a jerk in every timeline)

If you asked the general population of Garreg Mach University-the Enbarr branch, anyway-what they thought of Bernard Varley, the responses were usually:

1) "Who? Never heard of them.  
2) "You mean that weird kid? Purple hair?"  
3) "What gender are they, anyway? Has anyone ever found out?"

Bernie wasn't really bothered by 1, and thought 2 was a fair assessment. The ones who answered '3' were their biggest problems.

Their dad was a three. Their dad was a lot of things, really. Before the accident, before he 'found the Goddess', he was a good father, if a bit awkward. Now, however...

When they were twelve, they thought they were a girl, because they didn't really feel like a guy, ya know? Their mother nodded. Their father blew his top. "The Goddess made him a boy for a reason!" "And the Goddess will love him-I mean her, the same as a girl" their mother answered.

When they were sixteen, they decided that they weren't a girl or a boy, they were just...Bernie. Their mother nodded. Their father blew his top, again. "The Goddess made him a boy, for the last time!" "And the Goddess will love them the same whoever they are" their mother answered.

When they went off to college-not the small, private, Church college that dear old Dad had insisted he apply to, but GSU-they realized they weren't getting married. Ever.

Their mother nodded. Their father-wait for it-blew his top. "The Goddess made _him_ a _man_ for the purpose of uniting him with a _woman_!" Their mother's response was "Eugene, we're getting divorced."

A few weeks into freshman year, their mother called. Dad had gone out drinking again. The night started with a beer and ended with his car wrapped around a tree. The funeral was in four days, so if they could find a nice suit-or a dress, whichever suited them-that would be a good thing.

After the wake, they had driven back to Enbarr empty inside. After they had gotten out of the stupid rented suit (that smelled like mothballs and barf), they went to church. Considering how religious their father was, it was really strange how little they frequented a house of worship-probably due to all the 'thee's' and 'thou's' and 'it's just a phase's'. However, it wasn't like they had any other options, with Mom grieving and no real friends to speak of, so they wandered into a cathedral and plopped down into a pew.

There was no one else around, with the exception of a single woman in the front pew, curly blue hair concealing her face and a headdress adorning her...well, her head. Bernie sat for a good half-hour or so, staring at the ground, before the woman got up and shuffled down the aisle. She stopped at Bernie's pew, hand gently coming to rest on their shoulder. "I haven't seen you around here before. What brings you to this place?"

For whatever reason, the anxiety that normally closed their mouth wasn't present currently, and they felt free to let the words tumble out. "Well, my father just died. But he was....not a good father. Very religious, but not very kind. And he wouldn't accept me for who I am. So I don't know how to feel." They fiddled with their hands. "I just came here, I guess. I have no other options."

The woman nodded. "I know the feeling. My own parents were not supportive when I professed my faith to them. Many still view us as possible traitors or dissidents, a reputation we have yet to shake. So I am glad you came here, even with your father's judgement weighing on you." She sat next to them, smoothing down her dress. "My name is Lacrimae. Do you mind if I pray with you?"

Bernie shook their head. "Not at all....But could you answer a question, first?" The woman nodded. "Of course."

"Does the Goddess truly hate people like me?" They wrung their hands, bony and dry, as they spoke. "People who aren't men or women?"

The woman sighed. "There are many who have argued, one way or another, over the centuries. I myself cannot claim to know everything about the Goddess-no one can. But I have felt her warmth and her love, and I believe that she gives it freely to all, regardless of who you are." She'd bowed her head and began to pray softly as Bernie looked on. Not in the 'loud, obnoxious, holier-than-thou' way, but a way that was calming and caused a strange warmth in their chest.

They began going to church after that. Few people came to the midnight mass, so that was usually what they attended, sitting in a back pew. Her voice was soothing, even if Bernie wasn't really listening to the sermon. They came mostly out of boredom and their conflicting desires to be left alone and.....not be left alone, they guessed?

It was a few days after they met Theo that they came back. The fall semester was starting tomorrow, and they'd be busy, so they didn't know when they'd be able to visit again. As they shuffled into their usual back pew, they noticed a white-haired girl sitting in their spot.

Oh, Goddess. Social interaction.

"Umm......couldyoupleasemovethat'skindofmyseat?" The girl jumped slightly. "Oh! Sorry. Didn't see you there. Sure, I'll move." Bernie awkwardly smoothed their sweatshirt down and sat next to her. They stared at the pew in front of them, counting the wood grains, before the girl spoke.

"What's that smell? It smells like something's....burning." Her nose wrinkled slightly. Bernie shifted. "It's incense." 

"Oh. I haven't really been in a church before. My family....has a complex history with the Church." The girl sighed and continued talking. "We're part of the reason they dropped the 'of Seiros' part."

They looked at her, not believing what they were hearing. "You'reaHresvelg?Arealliverichperson?" She nodded. "Edith von Hresvelg. I'm not...rich, though. Family hates me. I hate them. You know the drill." Bernie nodded. "....I know too..." They sat in silence for a while, before Bernie thought to ask "Why are....you....here?"

"I'm....investigating someone. Someone I think might be connected to the Church. Someone who I find....suspicious." Her eyes narrow, her gaze almost venomous as she stares at Lacrimae, who is currently preaching. Oblivious to Edith's stare, she raises her hands to the sky, intoning a prayer that echoes off the cathedral walls. "Some of my friends and I were visited by a duo of...strange people. Something about the 'Beloved of Seiros'. I think they may be connected to the Church."

"Never heard of them..." Bernie trails off as the woman's prayers rise in volume. This is the first good thing she's had in a while, and she can sense the anger rolling off Edith in waves. 

Lacrimae falls silent after the last benediction, and the supplicants begin to file out. Edith rises slowly, hoping to speak with the woman, but sits quickly upon seeing two newcomers. A older man and another woman, both with verdant green hair. They make their way to the pulpit, pulling the woman aside and speaking in low tones. 

Bernie can sense Edith's anger growing by the minute. Wisely, they slip outside, shivering in the cool night air. Their breath shows like smoke from a campfire, curling up and out into the night. The cold that blows from the north, from Faerghus, is early this year.

*****************************************************************************************************************************************************  
Leanna and Stuart are in league with this woman.

From what Edith can tell, Archbishop Lacrimae does not have much of a reputation, good or bad. The Republic of Adrestia was founded, rather pointedly, with no official religion. The United Alliance followed suit. Faerghus, on the other hand....Well, it depends. Southern Faerghus, also known as the Faerghan Provinces, elected to stay with Adrestia. Northern Faerghus, or the Republic of the Faerghan Peoples, fought-and won-a war for independence. They dislike Adrestia, so it's a given they'd embrace the Church.

The fact that Fernanda and Hugh were able to go to Fhirdiad-for tourism, of all things!-at all is a miracle, and a testament to how influential Fernanda's parents must be. The border between Northern and Southern Fhirdiad is notoriously fraught with violence and sectarian disputes.

So it is a surprise that the Church chose to make their home in Enbarr. Perhaps an attempt to mend fences? Edith supposes it would be a good idea, politically, if you could win over the citizens of Adrestia. However, such a thing is unlikely.

Nevertheless, the Archbishop still holds sway over some regions. This is a powerful figure. And Leanna and Stuart are just casually talking with her.

She waits until they leave-she doesn't want to be recognized-before going up to the Archbishop. "Your, um, Holiness? May I have a word?" The woman turns, the tiny gems on her headdress clinking. "Of course. What is it, my child?"

Edith forces down the urge to bristle and yell 'Don't patronize me'. She doesn't like religion. At all. This is one of the reasons why.

"I had an encounter with several....travelling preachers.....a few days ago. I was wondering if you knew who the 'Beloved of Seiros' are? I don't know whether or not they are affiliated with the Church." The Archbishop frowns. "No, they are certainly not. I would beware those who claim to follow that creed-they are not sanctioned by the Church. They tend to try and recruit younger people, like yourself, into their ranks. Please, take care." She shuffles off, massaging her temples, and Edith gets the distinct feeling that this isn't the first time she's heard this question.

So she denies it outright, and quite forcefully, but are any of her underlings involved? The woman-Sister Charity-said something about a temple downtown. And then there's the matter of Leanna and Stuart, who bear more than a passing resemblance to her vision...

"Ugh." She shakes her head. The incense is making it hard to breathe-she's getting out of here, so she can think clearly. As she steps outside, she sees the purple-haired...person? Leaning up against a column. She supposes she should introduce herself.

She strides over, and extends a hand. "Sorry-I don't think we've been properly introduced. I never got your name...." She watches as they make a concerted effort to blend in with the wall. "Is everything okay?"

"Don'tlikesocialinteractionmuch." They mumble. "JustcallmeBerniethey/themokaythanksbye!" Bernie scurries off before stopping short at the edge of the parking lot. "Oh no...OhnoOhnoOhnonononono! My car!"

Their car, or more accurately their tires, have been slashed. Edith spots someone on the edge of her vision, and turns, squinting. Glasses are not good for peripheral vision, but she catches a quick sight of orange hair-lighter than Fernanda's, and cut short. Great.

"I can drive you home, if that's okay." Edith brandishes Hugh's keys. With the watery demise of Melinda's car, he and Fernanda are the only ones with wheels-and Fernanda's cars are all at some parking garage near her studio. "I'm borrowing this car, though. I need to stop for groceries along the way." Bernie groans inwardly. Stuck in a car with a stranger and an extra shopping trip-their worst nightmare.

An hour or so later, after Edith is finished getting food, and after she's managed to get vague directions to Bernie's house, she drives back to Hugh's place, backseat loaded with snacks. 

Hugh greets her at the door of what has become the most well-populated condo in Enbarr. Fernanda lounges on his couch, Melinda and Cassie sit in the corner, and...oh Goddess. A brown-haired boy, a magenta-haired guy, and a pink-haired girl are sitting in his living room. All of them are arguing-the brunette is yelling at the punk magenta dude, accusing him of kidnapping someone because they haven't seen them in days-except for the pink-haired girl. Hildegard. Who is still passed out. Hugh's eyes scream 'help me'.

There's a muffled voice from the car. "Ummm...thisisn'tmyhouse!"

Oh, and Edith forgot to drop Bernie off. 

"Um...got room for one more?" She holds out the groceries as a peace offering. Hugh stares at her. "My place is currently home to you, me, Football Star, Sleepy, and Fern. Drama Kid came looking for the person of indiscriminate gender who you appear to have accidentally kidnapped, and Punk Kid climbed through my window holding Sleeping Beauty and babbling something about her being his sister. I _do not,_ have room for one more."

Bernie ends up sleeping on a stray ottoman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adrestia is analogous to Europe, the United Alliance is the USA, and Faerghus is the UK in this fic. I'll explain more later.


	12. Interlude: Enbarr Museum of History, Exhibit C

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A finely-crafted axe, recently stolen, is recovered in a vacant lot with a strange note attached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, updates are slow. Seasonal, election and normal depression have all jumped me, and I'm up to my ears in schoolwork. I'll try and post as often as I can, but updates are probably going to be few and far between.

_This axe, crafted in the Alymran style, was a gift from the fifteenth King of Almyra, Khalid II, also known as Grand Duke Claude von Riegan, to Emperor Edelgard I. It was a symbolic gift, meant to celebrate the new, tentative alliance between the newly-united Fodlan and Almyra, but it also shows some signs of wear and tear; it likely saw actual combat in Edelgard's hands. The axe head in particular is very ornate, bearing an engraving showing a stylized eagle and a wyvern._

_Recently, this axe was stolen from the museum's collection, which, coupled with the recent theft of both Aymr and its' replica, as well as Freikugel, was cause for alarm. However, the axe was later discovered in an abandoned building, with a note tied to the handle. Whoever stole the axe seems to have taken it for the purpose of sending a message, rather than actually utilizing it themselves or selling it. The contents of the note are as follows:_

To the lovely curators of the Enbarr Museum of History,

Your security system is rather lacking. Considering me and my confederates have been able to simply waltz in and pluck several of your most prized exhibits right out from under your noses, one would think you would invest in better protective measures. Sadly, this appears not to be the case, as I was easily able to steal this axe. But I digress; there are far more pressing matters at hand.

My erstwhile colleagues and I require your services. Send a representative of your choosing to the rooftop of the opera house at midnight, two days from now. Do not bring any weapons or a police officer with you. I will have eyes on the area the whole time. If I suspect anything funny, our little rendezvous is off.

-Riegan

_We have no intention of interacting with this 'Riegan' character. Furthermore, we have alerted the 11th Precinct to the location of the rendezvous point, and they will be scoping out the Mittelfrank Opera House the entire night, in case they do show._

_Anyone with any tips or information about this individual is encouraged to contact the police department._

**Author's Note:**

> Another fic, because apparently I write instead of sleeping. 
> 
> The best part about writing a modern AU is the lack of canon, so I can do *whatever I want*.
> 
> Written out of a genuine desire to burn something down (or at the very least yell at a politician).
> 
> The tag is a bit misleading-Edelgard and Edith are two separate people, but Edelgard inhabits Edith's body (like a ghost, ooooooo) and they share many similarities. However, AO3 doesn't have tags for 'AU-Reincarnation But Kinda Not, They're Still Separate' so I pared it down a bit.


End file.
